-  \ 


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. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


UT 

.RD 


nc/t 


\v>ih 
CLARl 

Charles  de.  Bernard. 

[From  the  Portrait  by  Piot  in  the  Ribliothiqut  NaHonale.  ] 


NEW   YO 
Pu! 


GERFAUT 

BY 

CHARLES    DE    BERNARD 

Crowned   by    the    French    Academy 

With  a  Preface  by  JULES 
CLARETIE,  of  the  French 
Academy     ::     ::     ::     ::    :; 

NEW   YORK 

Current  Literature  Publishing  Company 
1910 

COPYRIGHT  1905 
ROBERT  ARNOT 

COPYRIGHT  1910 

BY 
CURRENT  LITERATURE  PUBLISHING  COMPANV 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

'IERRE  -  MARIE  -  CHARLES  DE 
BERNARD  DU  GRAIL  DE  LA 
VILLETTE,  better  known  by  the 
name  of  Charles  de  Bernard,  was 
born  in  Besancon,  February  24,  1804. 
He  came  from  a  very  ancient  family 
of  the  Vivarais,  was  educated  at  the 
college  of  his  native  city,  and  studied 
for  the  law  in  Dijon  and  at  Paris.  He  was  awarded  a 
prize  by  the  Jeux  floraux  for  his  dithyrambics,  Une  fete 
de  Neron  in  1829.  This  first  success  in  literature  did 
not  prevent  him  aspiring  to  the  Magistrature,  when  the 
Revolution  of  1830  broke  out  and  induced  him  to  enter 
politics.  He  became  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Gazette 
de  Franche-Comte  and  an  article  hi  the  pages  of  this 
journal  about  Peau  de  chagrin  earned  him  the  thanks 
and  the  friendship  of  Balzac. 

The  latter  induced  him  to  take  up  his  domicile  in 
Paris  and  initiated  him  into  the  art  of  novel-writing. 
Bernard  had  published  a  volume  of  odes:  Plus  Deuil 
que  Joie  (1838),  which  was  not  much  noticed,  but  a 
series  of  stories  in  the  same  year  gained  him  the  repu- 
tation of  a  genial  conteur.  They  were  collected  under 
the  title  Le  Noeud  Gordien,  and  one  of  the  tales,  Une 
Aventure  du  Magistral,  was  adapted  by  Sardou  for  his 
[v] 

2042168 


PREFACE 

comedy  Pommes  du  vaisin.  Gerfaut,  his  greatest  work, 
crowned  by  the  Academy,  appeared  also  in  1838,  then 
followed  Le  Paravent,  another  collection  of  novels 
(1839);  Les  Ailes  d1 1  care  (1840);  La  Peau  du  Lion 
and  La  Chasse  aux  Amants  (1841);  UEcueil  (1842); 
Un  Beau-pere  (1845) ;  and  finally  Le  Gentilhomme  cam- 
pagnard,  in  1847.  Bernard  died,  only  forty-eight  years 
old,  March  6,  1850. 

Charles  de  Bernard  was  a  realist,  a  pupil  of  Balzac. 
He  surpasses  his  master,  nevertheless,  in  energy  and 
limpidity  of  composition.  His  style  is  elegant  and  cul- 
tured. His  genius  is  most  fully  represented  in  a  score 
or  so  of  delightful  tales  rarely  exceeding  some  sixty  or 
seventy  pages  in  length,  but  perfect  in  proportion,  full 
of  invention  and  originality,  and  saturated  with  the 
purest  and  pleasantest  essence  of  the  spirit  which  for 
six  centuries  in  tableaux,  farces,  tales  in  prose  and 
verse,  comedies  and  correspondence,  made  French  lit- 
erature the  delight  and  recreation  of  Europe.  Gerjaut 
is  considered  De  Bernard's  greatest  work.  The  plot 
turns  on  an  attachment  between  a  married  woman  and 
the  hero  of  the  story.  The  book  has  nothing  that  can 
justly  offend,  the  incomparable  sketches  of  Marillac 
and  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  are  admirable;  Ger- 
faut and  Bergenheim  possess  pronounced  originality, 
and  the  author  is,  so  to  speak,  incarnated  with  the  hero 
of  his  romance. 

The  most  uncritical  reader  can  not  fail  to  notice  the 
success  with  which  Charles  de  Bernard  introduces 
people  of  rank  and  breeding  into  his  stories.  Whether 
[vi] 


PREFACE 

or  not  he  drew  from  nature,  his  portraits  of  this  kind 
are  exquisitely  natural  and  easy.  It  is  sufficient  to  say 
that  he  is  the  literary  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  of  the  post- 
revolution  vicomtes  and  marquises.  We  can  see  that 
his  portraits  are  faithful;  we  must  feel  that  they  are  at 
the  same  time  charming.  Bernard  is  an  amiable  and 
spirited  conteur  who  excels  in  producing  an  animated 
spectacle  for  a  refined  and  selected  public,  whether  he 
paints  the  ridiculousness  or  the  misery  of  humanity. 

The  works  of  Charles  de  Bernard  in  wit  and  urbanity, 
and  in  the  peculiar  charm  that  wit  and  urbanity  give,  are 
of  the  best  French  type.  To  any  elevation  save  a  lofty 
place  in  fiction  they  have  no  claim;  but  in  that  phase 
of  literature  their  worth  is  undisputed,  and  from  many 
testimonies  it  would  seem  that  those  whom  they  most 
amuse  are  those  who  are  best  worth  amusing. 

These  novels,  well  enough  as  they  are  known  to  pro- 
fessed students  of  French  literature,  have,  by  the  mere 
fact  of  their  age,  rather  slipped  out  of  the  list  of  books 
known  to  the  general  reader.  The  general  reader  who 
reads  for  amusement  can  not  possibly  do  better  than 
proceed  to  transform  his  ignorance  of  them  into  knowl- 
edge. 


[  vii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

THE  TRAVELLER J 

CHAPTER  H 
THE  CASTLE  OF  BERGENHEIM 16 

CHAPTER  HI 
A  DIVIDED  HOUSEHOLD 35 

CHAPTER  IV 
THE  GALLANT  IN  THE  GARDEN 49 

CHAPTER  V 
ART  AND  Music 66 

CHAPTER  VI 
GERFAUT'S  STORY 8l 

CHAPTER  VH 
GERFAUT  ASKS  A  FAVOR I01 

CHAPTER  VIII 
A  LOVER'S  RUSE I23 

CHAPTER  IX 

GERFAUT,  THE  WIZARD      M2 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  X 

PAGE 

PLOTS 157 

CHAPTER  XI 
A  QUARREL 171 

CHAPTER  XII 
AN  INHARMONIOUS  MUSICALE 187 

CHAPTER  XIII 
MONSIEUR  DE  BERGENHEIM 202 

CHAPTER  XIV 
GERFAUT'S  ALLEGORY 206 

CHAPTER  XV 
DECLARATION  OF  WAR 214 

CHAPTER  XVI 
GERFAUT  WINS  A  POINT 217 

CHAPTER  XVII 
A  RUDE  INTERRUPTION 239 

CHAPTER  XVin 
ESPIONAGE 252 

CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  REVELATION 260 

CHAPTER  XX 

MARILLAC  TELLS  A  STORY 278 

[x] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXI 

PAGE 

A  STRATAGEM 300 

CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  CRISIS 310 

CHAPTER  XXni 
THE  AGREEMENT 324 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE 339 

CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  WILD  BOAR 355 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
BERGENHEIM'S  REVENGE 364 


[xi] 


GERFAUT 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  TRAVELLER 

CURING  the  first  days  of  the  month 
of  September,  1832,  a  young  man 
about  thirty  years  of  age  was  walk- 
ing through  one  of  the  valleys  in 
Lorraine  originating  in  the  Vosges 
mountains.  A  little  river  which,  after 
a  few  leagues  of  its  course,  flows 
into  the  Moselle,  watered  this  wild 
basin  shut  in  between  two  parallel  lines  of  mountains. 
The  hills  in  the  south  became  gradually  lower  and 
finally  dwindled  away  into  the  plain.  Alongside  the 
plateau,  arranged  in  amphitheatres,  large  square  fields 
stripped  of  their  harvest  lay  here  and  there  in  the 
primitive  forest;  in  other  places,  innumerable  oaks 
and  elms  had  been  dethroned  to  give  place  to  plan- 
tations of  cherry-trees,  whose  symmetrical  rows  prom- 
ised an  abundant  harvest. 

This  contest  of  nature  with  industry  is  everywhere, 
but  is  more  pronounced  in  hilly  countries.  The  scene 
changed,  however,  as  one  penetrated  farther,  and 
little  by  little  the  influence  of  the  soil  gained  ascend- 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

ancy.  As  the  hills  grew  nearer  together,  enclosing  the 
valley  in  a  closer  embrace,  the  clearings  gave  way  to 
the  natural  obduracy  of  the  soil.  A  little  farther  on 
they  disappeared  entirely.  At  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
bluffs  which  bordered  with  its  granite  bands  the  high- 
est plateau  of  the  mountain,  the  forest  rolled  victor- 
iously down  to  the  banks  of  the  river. 

Now  came  patches  of  forest,  like  solid  battalions  of 
infantry;  sometimes  solitary  trees  appeared,  as  if  dis- 
tributed by  chance  upon  the  grassy  slopes,  or  scaling 
the  summit  of  the  steepest  rocks  like  a  body  of  bold 
sharpshooters.  A  little,  unfrequented  road,  if  one  can 
judge  from  the  scarcity  of  tracks,  ran  alongside  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  climbing  up  and  down  hills; 
overcoming  every  obstacle,  it  stretched  out  in  almost 
a  straight  line.  One  might  compare  it  to  those  strong 
characters  who  mark  out  a  course  in  life  and  imper- 
turbably  follow  it.  The  river,  on  the  contrary,  like 
those  docile  and  compliant  minds  that  bend  to  agree- 
able emergencies,  described  graceful  curves,  obeying 
thus  the  caprices  of  the  soil  which  served  as  its  bed. 

At  a  first  glance,  the  young  man  who  was  walking 
alone  in  the  midst  of  this  picturesque  country  seemed 
to  have  nothing  remarkable  in  his  dress;  a  straw  hat, 
a  blue  blouse  and  linen  trousers  composed  his  costume. 
It  would  have  been  very  natural  to  take  him  for  an 
Alsatian  peasant  returning  to  his  village  through  the 
Vosges's  rough  pathways ;  but  a  more  attentive  glance 
quickly  dispelled  this  conjecture.  There  is  something 
in  the  way  in  which  a  person  wears  the  plainest  cos- 
tume which  betrays  the  real  man,  no  matter  how  he 


GERFAUT 

may  be  clothed.  Thus,  nothing  could  be  more  modest 
than  this  traveller's  blouse,  but  the  absence  on  collar 
and  sleeves  of  the  arabesques  in  white  or  red  thread, 
the  pride  of  all  village  dandies,  was  sufficient  for  one 
to  realize  that  this  was  not  a  fancy  costume. 

His  expressive,  but  not  handsome  face  was  dark, 
it  is  true,  but  it  did  not  look  as  if  wind  or  sun  had 
contributed  to  its  complexion;  it  seemed  rather  to 
have  lost  by  a  sedentary  life  something  of  the  south- 
ern carnation,  which  had  ended  by  blending  these 
warmer  tints  into  a  dead  uniform  pallor.  Finally,  if, 
as  one  may  suppose  after  different  diagnoses,  this  per- 
son had  the  slightest  desire  to  play  the  role  of  Tyrcis 
or  Amintas,  his  white  hand,  as  carefully  cared  for  as 
a  pretty  woman's,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  be- 
tray him.  It  was  evident  that  the  man  was  above  his 
costume;  a  rare  thing!  The  lion's  ears  pierced  the 
ass's  skin  this  time. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  the  sky, 
jvhich  had  been  overcast  all  the  morning,  had  assumed, 
within  a  few  moments,  a  more  sombre  aspect;  large 
clouds  were  rapidly  moving  from  south  to  north,  rolled 
one  over  another  by  an  ominous  wind.  So  the  trav- 
eller, who  had  just  entered  the  wildest  part  of  the 
valley,  seemed  very  little  disposed  to  admire  its  fine 
vegetation  and  romantic  sites.  Impatient  to  reach 
the  end  of  his  journey,  or  fearing  the  approaching 
storm,  he  quickened  his  steps;  but  this  pace  was  not 
kept  long.  At  the  end  of  a  few  moments,  having 
crossed  a  small  clearing,  he  found  himself  at  the  en- 
trance of  a  lawn  where  the  road  divided  in  two  direc- 
[3] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

tions,  one  continuing  to  skirt  the  river  banks,  the 
other,  broader  and  better  built,  turning  to  the  left 
into  a  winding  ravine. 

Which  of  these  two  roads  should  he  follow?  He 
did  not  know.  The  profound  solitude  of  the  place 
made  him  fear  that  he  might  not  meet  any  one  who 
could  direct  him,  when  the  sound  of  a  psalm  vigor- 
ously chanted  reached  his  ears  from  the  distance. 
Soon  it  became  more  distinct,  and  he  recognized  the 
words,  In  exitu  Israel  de  Egypto,  sung  at  the  top  of 
the  lungs  by  a  voice  so  shrill  that  it  would  have  irri- 
tated the  larynx  of  any  of  the  sopranos  at  the  Opera. 
Its  vibrating  but  sharp  tones  resounded  so  clearly  in 
the  dead  silence  of  the  forest  that  a  number  of  stanzas 
were  finished  before  the  pious  musician  came  in  sight. 
At  last  a  drove  of  cattle  appeared  through  the  trees 
which  bordered  the  road  on  the  left,  walking  with  a 
slow,  grave  step ;  they  were  driven  by  a  little  shepherd 
about  nine  or  ten  years  of  age,  who  interrupted  his 
song  from  time  to  time  to  reassemble  the  members  of 
his  flock  with  heavy  blows  from  his  whip,  thus  uniting 
temporal  cares  with  those  of  a  spiritual  nature  with 
a  coolness  which  the  most  important  personages  might 
have  envied  him. 

"Which  of  these  roads  leads  to  Bergenheim?"  called 
out  the  traveller  when  they  were  near  enough  to  speak 
to  each  other. 

"Bergenheim!"  repeated  the  child,  taking  off  his 
cotton  cap,  which  was  striped  like  a  rainbow,  and 
adding  a  few  words  in  an  unintelligible  Gallo-Ger- 
manic  patois. 

[4] 


GERFAUT 

"You  are  not  French,  then?"  asked  the  stranger, 
in  a  disappointed  tone. 

The  shepherd  raised  his  head  proudly  and  replied: 

"I  am  Alsatian,  not  French!" 

The  young  man  smiled  at  this  trait  of  local  patriot- 
ism so  common  then  in  the  beautiful  province  by 
the  Rhine;  then  he  thought  that  pantomime  might  be 
necessary,  so  he  pointed  with  his  finger  first  at  one 
road,  then  at  the  other: 

"There  or  there,  Bergenheim?"  asked  he. 

The  child,  in  his  turn,  pointed  silently  with  the  tip 
of  his  whip  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  designating,  at 
some  distance  on  the  other  side,  a  thicket  of  woods 
behind  which  a  slight  column  of  smoke  was  rising. 

"The  deuce!"  murmured  the  stranger,  "it  seems 
that  I  have  gone  astray;  if  the  chateau  is  on  the  other 
side,  where  can  I  establish  my  ambuscade?" 

The  shepherd  seemed  to  understand  the  traveller's 
embarrassment.  Gazing  at  him  with  his  intelligent 
blue  eyes,  he  traced,  with  the  tip  of  his  toe  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  a  furrow  across  which  he  rounded 
his  whip  like  the  arch  of  a  bridge;  then  he  pointed  a 
second  time  up  the  river. 

"You  are  an  honor  to  your  country,  young  fellow," 
exclaimed  the  stranger;  "there  is  the  material  in  you 
to  make  one  of  Cooper's  redskins."  As  he  said  these 
words  he  threw  a  piece  of  money  into  the  child's  cap 
and  walked  rapidly  away  in  the  direction  indicated. 

The  Alsatian  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments 
with  one  hand  in  his  blond  hair  and  his  eyes  fastened 
upon  the  piece  of  silver  which  shone  like  a  star  in  the 
[5] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

bottom  of  his  cap;  when  the  one  whom  he  considered 
as  a  model  of  extraordinary  generosity  had  disappeared 
behind  the  trees,  he  gave  vent  to  his  joy  by  heavy 
blows  from  his  whip  upon  the  backs  of  the  cattle,  then 
he  resumed  his  way,  singing  in  a  still  more  trium- 
phant tone :  Monies  exultaverunt  ut  antes,  and  jumping 
higher  himself  than  all  the  hills  and  rams  in  the  Bible. 

The  young  man  had  not  walked  more  than  five 
minutes  before  he  recognized  the  correctness  of  the 
directions  he  had  received.  The  ground  which  he  had 
passed  over  was  a  field  covered  with  clumps  of  low 
trees;  it  was  easy  to  see  by  its  disc-like  shape  that 
it  had  been  formed  by  successive  alluvia,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  other  shore,  which  had  been  incessantly 
worn  away  by  the  stream.  This  sort  of  flat,  level 
peninsula  was  crossed  in  a  straight  line  by  the  road, 
which  deviated  from  the  river  at  the  point  where  the 
two  roads  came  together  again,  like  the  cross  and 
string  of  a  bow  at  its  extremity.  The  trees,  becoming 
thinner,  revealed  a  perspective  all  the  more  wonder- 
ful as  it  was  unexpected.  While  the  eye  followed 
the  widening  stream,  which  disappeared  in  the  depths 
of  a  mountainous  gorge,  a  new  prospect  suddenly  pre- 
sented itself  on  the  right  upon  the  other  shore. 

A  second  valley,  smaller  than  the  first  and  in  meas- 
ure its  vassal,  formed  an  amphitheatre  the  crest  of 
which  was  bordered  by  a  fringe  of  perpendicular  rocks 
as  white  as  dried  bones.  Under  this  crown,  which 
rendered  it  almost  inaccessible,  the  little  valley  was 
resplendent  in  its  wealth  of  evergreen  trees,  oaks 
with  their  knotty  branches,  and  its  fresh  green  turf. 
[6] 


GERFAUT 

Taken  as  a  whole,  it  was  a  foundation  worthy  of  the 
picturesque  edifice  which  met  one's  eye  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  at  which  the  traveller  gazed  with  extreme 
interest. 

At  the  junction  of  the  two  valleys  stood  an  enor- 
mous building,  half  manorial,  half  monastic  in  appear- 
ance. The  shore  formed,  at  this  point,  for  an  extent 
of  several  hundred  feet,  a  bluff  whose  edge  plunged 
vertically  into  the  river.  The  chateau  and  its  out- 
buildings rested  upon  this  solid  base.  The  principal 
house  was  a  large  parallelogram  of  very  old  construc- 
tion, but  which  had  evidently  been  almost  entirely  re- 
built at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
stones,  of  grayish  granite  which  abounds  in  the  Vosges, 
were  streaked  with  blue  and  violet  veins,  and  gave 
the  facade  a  sombre  aspect,  increased  by  the  scarcity 
of  windows,  some  of  which  were  a  la  Palladia,  others 
almost  as  narrow  as  loop-holes.  An  immense  roof 
of  red  tile,  darkened  by  rain,  projected  several  feet 
over  the  whole  front,  as  is  still  to  be  seen  in  old  cities 
in  the  North.  Thanks  to  this  projecting  weather-board, 
the  apartments  upon  the  upper  floor  were  shaded  from 
the  sun's  rays,  like  those  persons  who  have  weak  eyes 
and  who  protect  them  from  a  strong  light  by  wearing 
a  green  shade. 

The  view  which  this  melancholy  dwelling  presented 
from  the  place  where  the  traveller  had  first  seen  it, 
was  one  which  made  it  appear  to  the  best  advantage; 
it  seemed,  from  this  point,  to  come  immediately  out  of 
the  river,  built  as  it  was  upon  the  very  curb  of  the 
bluffs,  at  this  place  at  least  thirty  feet  high.  This 
[7] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

elevation,  added  to  that  of  the  building,  effaced  the 
lack  of  proportion  of  the  roof  and  gave  to  the  whole 
a  most  imposing  appearance;  it  seemed  as  it  the  rocks 
were  a  part  of  the  building  to  which  it  served  as  foun- 
dation, for  the  stones  had  ended  by  assuming  the 
same  color,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  discover 
the  junction  of  man's  work  and  that  of  nature,  had  it 
not  been  outlined  by  a  massive  iron  balcony  running 
across  the  entire  length  of  the  first  story,  whence  one 
could  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  line-fishing.  Two  round 
towers  with  pointed  roofs  stood  at  each  corner  of  the 
facade  and  seemed  to  gaze  with  proud  satisfaction  at 
their  own  reflection  in  the  water. 

A  long  line  of  sycamore- trees  skirted  the  banks  of 
the  river,  beginning  from  the  foot  of  the  chateau,  and 
forming  the  edge  of  a  park  which  extended  to  the  back 
of  the  double  valley.  A  little  wooden  bridge  con- 
nected this  sort  of  avenue  with  the  road  the  traveller 
had  just  passed  over;  but  the  latter  did  not  seem  dis- 
posed to  profit  by  this  silent  invitation  to  which  large 
raindrops  gave  more  emphasis.  He  was  so  absorbed 
in  his  meditation  that,  to  arouse  him,  it  needed  the 
sound  of  a  gruff  voice  behind  him  uttering  these 
words: 

"That  is  what  I  call  an  ugly  castle!  It  is  hardly 
as  good  as  our  common  country  houses  around  Mar- 
seilles." 

The  stranger  turned  quickly  around  and  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  a  man  wearing  a  gray  cap  and 
carrying  his  coat  upon  his  shoulder,  as  workmen  do 
in  the  South.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  knotty  stick 
[8] 


GERFAUT 

which  had  been  recently  cut.  The  newcomer  had  a 
swarthy  complexion,  harsh  features,  and  deep-set  eyes 
which  gave  his  face  an  ugly,  false  expression. 

"I  said  an  ugly  castle,"  continued  he.  "However, 
the  cage  is  made  for  the  bird." 

"It  seems,  then,  that  you  do  not  like  its  master?" 
said  the  traveller. 

"The  master!"  repeated  the  workman,  seizing  hold 
of  his  stick  with  a  threatening  air,  "Monsieur  le  Baron 
de  Bergenheim,  as  they  say!  He  is  rich  and  a  noble- 
man, and  I  am  only  a  poor  carpenter.  Well,  then, 
if  you  stay  here  a  few  days,  you  will  witness  a  comical 
ceremony;  I  shall  make  this  brigand  repent." 

"Brigand!"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  in  a  surprised 
tone.  "What  has  he  done  to  you?" 

"Yes,  brigand!  you  may  tell  him  so  from  me.  But, 
by  the  way,"  continued  the  workman,  surveying  his 
companion  from  head  to  foot  with  a  searching,  defiant 
air,  "do  you  happen  to  be  the  carpenter  who  is  com- 
ing from  Strasbourg?  In  that  case,  I  have  a  few 
words  to  say  to  you.  Lambernier  does  not  allow  any 
one  to  take  the  bread  out  of  his  mouth  in  that  way; 
do  you  understand?" 

The  young  man  seemed  very  little  moved  by  this 
declaration. 

"I  am  not  a  carpenter,"  said  he,  smiling,  "and  I 
have  no  wish  for  your  work." 

"Truly,  you  do  not  look  as  if  you  had  pushed  a 
plane  very  often.  It  seems  that  in  your  business  one 
does  not  spoil  one's  hands.  You  are  a  workman  about 
as  much  as  I  am  pope." 

[9] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

This  remark  made  the  one  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed feel  in  as  bad  a  humor  as  an  author  does  when 
he  finds  a  grammatical  error  in  one  of  his  books. 

"So  you  work  at  the  chateau,  then,"  said  he,  finally, 
to  change  the  conversation. 

"For  six  months  I  have  worked  in  that  shanty," 
replied  the  workman;  "I  am  the  one  who  carved  the 
new  woodwork,  and  I  will  say  it  is  well  done.  Well, 
this  great  wild  boar  of  a  Bergenheim  turned  me  out 
of  the  house  yesterday  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  his 
dogs." 

"He  doubtless  had  his  reasons." 

"I  tell  you,  I  will  crush  him — reasons!  Damn  it! 
They  told  him  I  talked  too  often  with  his  wife's  maid 
and  quarrelled  with  the  servants,  a  pack  of  idlers! 
Did  he  not  forbid  my  putting  my  foot  upon  his  land? 
I  am  upon  his  land  now;  let  him  come  and  chase  me 
off;  let  him  come,  he  will  see  how  I  shall  receive  him. 
Do  you  see  this  stick?  I  have  just  cut  it  in  his  own 
woods  to  use  it  on  himself!" 

The  young  man  no  longer  listened  to  the  workman; 
his  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  castle,  whose  slight- 
est details  he  studied,  as  if  he  hoped  that  in  the  end 
the  stone  would  turn  into  glass  and  let  him  see  the 
interior.  If  this  curiosity  had  any  other  object  than 
the  architecture  and  form  of  the  building  it  was  not 
gratified.  No  human  figure  came  to  enliven  this  sad, 
lonely  dwelling.  All  the  windows  were  •  closed,  as  if 
the  house  were  uninhabited.  The  baying  of  dogs, 
probably  imprisoned  in  their  kennel,  was  the  only 
sound  which  came  to  break  the  strange  silence,  and 
[10] 


GERFAUT 

the  distant  thunder,  with  its  dull  rumbling,  repeated 
by  the  echoes,  responded  plaintively,  and  gave  a  lu- 
gubrious character  to  the  scene. 

"When  one  speaks  of  the  devil  he  appears,"  said 
the  workman,  suddenly,  with  an  emotion  which  gave 
the  lie  to  his  recent  bravado;  "if  you  wish  to  see  this 
devil  incarnate  of  a  Bergenheim,  just  turn  your  head. 
Good-by." 

At  these  words  he  leaped  a  ditch  at  the  left  of  the 
road  and  disappeared  in  the  bushes.  The  stranger 
also  seemed  to  feel  an  impression  very  like  that  of 
Lambernier's  as  he  saw  a  man  on  horseback  advanc- 
ing on  a  gallop.  Instead  of  waiting  for  him,  he  darted 
into  the  field  which  descended  to  the  river,  and  hid 
behind  a  group  of  trees. 

The  Baron,  who  was  not  more  than  thirty-three 
years  of  age,  had  one  of  those  energetic,  handsome 
faces  whose  type  seems  to  belong  particularly  to  old 
military  families.  His  bright,  blond  hair  and  clear, 
blue  eyes  contrasted  strongly  with  his  ruddy  com- 
plexion; his  aspect  was  severe,  but  noble  and  impos- 
ing, in  spite  of  his  negligent  dress,  which  showed  that 
indifference  to  matters  of  personal  attire  which  be- 
comes habitual  with  country  lords.  His  tall  figure 
was  beginning  to  grow  stout,  and  that  increased  his 
athletic  appearance.  He  sat  very  erect  in  his  saddle, 
and  from  the  way  in  which  he  straightened  out  his 
long  legs  against  the  sides  of  his  beast,  one  suspected 
that  he  could,  if  necessary,  repeat  the  Marshal  de 
Saxe's  feats  of  skill.  He  stopped  his  horse  suddenly 
at  the  very  spot  which  the  two  men  had  just  vacated 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

and  called  out  in  a  voice  which  would  startle  a  regi- 
ment of  cuirassiers: 

"Here,  Lambernier ! " 

The  carpenter  hesitated  a  moment,  at  this  impera- 
tive call,  between  the  fear  which  he  could  not  over- 
come and  shame  at  fleeing  from  a  single  man  in  the 
presence  of  a  witness;  finally  this  last  feeling  tri- 
umphed. He  returned  to  the  edge  of  the  road  with- 
out saying  a  word,  and  stationed  himself  in  an  inso- 
lent way  face  to  face  with  the  Baron,  with  his  hat 
drawTn  down  over  his  ears,  and  grasped  through  pre- 
caution the  knotty  stick  which  served  him  as  a  weapon. 

"Lambernier,"  said  the  master  of  the  castle,  in  a 
severe  tone,  "your  account  was  settled  yesterday; 
was  it  not  paid  in  full?  Is  anything  due  you?" 

"I  ask  nothing  of  you,"  replied  the  workman, 
brusquely. 

"In  that  case,  why  are  you  wandering  about  my 
place  when  I  forbade  you?" 

"I  am  upon  the  highway,  nobody  can  prevent  me 
from  passing  there. " 

"You  are  upon  my  land,  and  you  came  out  of  my 
woods,"  replied  the  Baron,  emphasizing  his  words 
with  the  firmness  of  a  man  who  would  permit  no  viola- 
tion of  his  rights  as  a  landowner. 

"The  ground  upon  which  I  walk  is  mine,"  said  the 
workman,  in  his  turn,  as  he  struck  the  end  of  his  stick 
upon  the  ground  as  if  to  take  possession.  This  gest- 
ure attracted  Bergenheim's  attention,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  with  a  sudden  light  at  the  sight  of  the  stick 
which  Lambernier  held. 

[12] 


GERFAUT 

''You  scoundrel!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  probably  re- 
gard my  trees  also  as  your  own.  Where  did  you  cut 
that  stick?" 

"Go  and  find  out,"  said  the  workman,  accompany- 
ing his  reply  with  a  flourish  of  the  stick. 

The  Baron  coolly  dismounted,  threw  the  bridle  over 
his  horse's  neck,  walked  up  to  the  workman,  who  had 
taken  the  position  of  a  practised  pugilist  to  receive 
him,  and,  without  giving  him  time  to  strike,  he  dis- 
armed him  with  one  hand  by  a  blow  which  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  uproot  the  beech  rod  before  it  was 
metamorphosed  into  a  club;  with  the  other  hand  he 
seized  the  man  by  the  collar  and  gave  him  a  shaking 
that  it  was  as  impossible  to  struggle  against  as  if  it 
had  been  caused  by  a  steam-engine.  Obeying  this 
irresistible  force,  in  spite  of  his  kicking,  Lambernier 
described  a  dozen  circles  around  his  adversary,  while 
the  latter  set  these  off  with  some  of  the  hardest  blows 
from  green  wood  that  ever  chastised  an  insolent  fel- 
low. This  gymnastic  exercise  ended  by  a  sleight-of- 
hand  trick,  which,  after  making  the  carpenter  pirouette 
for  the  last  time,  sent  him  rolling  head-first  into  a 
ditch,  the  bottom  of  which,  fortunately  for  him,  was 
provided  with  a  bed  of  soft  mud.  When  the  punish- 
ment was  over,  Bergenheim  remounted  his  horse  as 
tranquilly  as  he  had  dismounted  it,  and  continued  his 
way  toward  the  chateau. 

The  young  man,  in  the  midst  of  the  thicket  where 

he  was  concealed,  had  lost  no  detail  of  this  rural  scene. 

He  could  not  help  having  a  feeling  of  admiration  for 

this  energetic  representative  of  the  feudal  ages  who, 

[13] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

with  no  fear  of  any  court  of  justice  or  other  bourgeois 
inventions,  had  thus  exerted  over  his  own  domains 
the  summary  justice  in  force  in  Eastern  countries. 

"France  has  thrashed  Gaul,"  said  he,  smiling  to 
himself;  "if  all  our  men  had  this  Bergenheim's  iron 
fist  many  things  determined  upon  to-day  might  be 
called  in  question.  If  I  ever  have  the  slightest  diffi- 
culty with  this  Milo  de  Crotona,  he  may  be  sure  I 
shall  not  choose  pugilism  as  my  mode  of  discussion. " 

The  storm  now  burst  forth  in  all  its  fury.  A  dark 
curtain  covered  the  whole  valley,  and  the  rain  fell  in 
torrents.  The  Baron  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  crossed 
the  bridge  and,  entering  the  sycamore  avenue,  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  Without  paying  any  attention  to 
Lambernier,  who  was  uttering  imprecations  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ditch,  into  which  he  was  sinking  deeper 
and  deeper,  the  stranger  went  to  seek  a  less  illusive 
shelter  than  the  trees  under  which  he  had  taken  his 
position;  but  at  this  moment  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted to  one  side  of  the  castle.  A  window,  or  rather 
a  glass  door,  just  then  opened  upon  the  balcony,  and 
a  young  woman  in  a  rose-colored  negligee  appeared 
upon  the  dark  facade.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
imagine  anything  more  fresh  or  charming  than  this 
.apparition  at  such  a  moment.  Leaning  upon  the 
balustrade,  the  young  woman  rested  her  face  upon  a 
hand  which  was  as  white  as  a  lily,  and  her  finger 
smoothed  with  a  mechanical  caress  the  ringlets  of 
chestnut  hair  that  lay  upon  her  forehead,  while  her 
large  brown  eyes  gazed  into  the  depths  of  the  clouds 
from  which  the  lightning  was  flashing,  and  with  which 


GERFAUT 

they  vied  in  brilliancy.    A  poet  would  have  said  it 
was  Miranda  evoked  by  the  tempest. 

The  stranger  parted  the  branches  before  him  to  get 
a  better  view;  at  the  same  instant  he  was  blinded  by 
a  terrible  flash  which  lighted  the  whole  valley  and  was 
immediately  followed  by  a  terrific  crash.  When  he 
opened  his  eyes  the  chateau  which  he  believed  to  be 
at  the  bottom  of  the  river  stood  still  upright,  solemn, 
and  firm  as  before;  but  the  lady  in  the  rose-colored 
gown  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  CASTLE  OF  BERGENHEIM 

[E  appearance  of  the  room  into  which 
the  lady  had  precipitately  entered, 
when  startled  by  the  thunder,  cor- 
responded with  the  edifice  to  which 
it  belonged.  It  was  a  very  large 
room,  longer  than  it  was  wide,  and 
lighted  by  three  windows,  the  middle 
one  of  which  opened  from  top  to 
bottom  like  a  door  and  led  out  upon  the  balcony. 
The  woodwork  and  ceiling  were  in  chestnut,  which 
time  had  polished  and  a  skilful  hand  had  ornamented 
with  a  profusion  of  allegorical  figures.  The  beauty  of 
this  work  of  art  was  almost  entirely  concealed  by  a 
very  remarkable  decoration  which  covered  every  side 
of  the  room,  consisting  of  one  of  the  most  glorious 
collections  of  family  portraits  which  a  country  chateau 
of  the  nineteenth  century  could  offer. 

The  first  of  these  portraits  hung  opposite  the  win- 
dows at  the  right  of  the  entrance  door  and  was  that 
of  a  chevalier  in  full  armor,  whose  teeth  gleamed  from 
under  his  long  moustache  like  those  of  an  untamed 
tiger.  Beginning  with  this  formidable  figure,  which 
bore  the  date  1247,  forty  others  of  about  the  same 
dimensions  were  placed  in  order  according  to  their 
[16] 


GERFAUT 

dates.  It  seemed  as  if  each  period  had  left  its  mark 
upon  those  of  the  personages  it  had  seen  live  and  die, 
and  had  left  something  of  its  own  character  there. 

There  were  more  gallant  cavaliers  cut  after  the  same 
pattern  as  the  first.  Their  stern,  harsh  faces,  red 
beards,  and  broad,  square  military  shoulders  told 
that  by  sword-thrusts  and  broken  lances  they  had 
founded  the  nobility  of  their  race.  An  heroic  preface 
to  this  family  biography!  A  rough  and  warlike  page 
of  the  Middle  Ages!  After  these  proud  men-of-arms 
came  several  figures  of  a  less  ferocious  aspect,  but  not 
so  imposing.  In  these  portraits  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury beards  had  disappeared  with  the  sword.  In  those 
wearing  caps  and  velvet  toques,  silk  robes  and  heavy 
gold  chains  supporting  a  badge  of  the  same  metal, 
one  recognized  lords  in  full  and  tranquil  possession 
of  the  fiefs  won  by  their  fathers,  landowners  who  had 
degenerated  a  little  and  preferred  mountain  life  in  a 
manor  to  the  chances  of  a  more  hazardous  existence. 
These  pacific  gentlemen  were,  for  the  most  part, 
painted  with  the  left  hand  gloved  and  resting  upon 
the  hip ;  the  right  one  was  bare,  a  sort  of  token  of  dis- 
armament which  one  might  take  for  a  painter's  epi- 
gram. Some  of  them  had  allowed  their  favorite  dogs 
to  share  the  honors  of  the  picture.  All  in  this  group 
indicated  that  this  branch  of  the  family  had  many 
points  of  resemblance  with  the  more  illustrious  faces. 
It  was  the  period  of  idle  kings. 

A  half  dozen  solemn  personages  with  gold -braided 
hats  and  long  red  robes  bordered  with  ermine,  and 
wearing  starched  ruffles,  occupied  one  corner  of  the 
[17] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

parlor  near  the  windows.  These  worthy  advisers  of 
the  Dukes  of  Lorraine  explained  the  way  in  which 
the  masters  of  the  chateau  had  awakened  from  the 
torpor  in  which  they  had  been  plunged  for  several  gen- 
erations, in  order  to  participate  in  the  affairs  of  their 
country  and  enter  a  more  active  sphere. 

Here  the  portraits  assumed  the  proportions  of  history. 
Did  not  this  branch,  descended  from  warlike  stock, 
seem  like  a  fragment  taken  from  the  European  annals  ? 
Was  it  not  a  symbolical  image  of  the  progress  of  civ- 
ilization, of  regular  legislation  struggling  against  bar- 
baric customs?  Thanks  to  these  respectable  coun- 
sellors and  judges,  one  might  reverse  the  motto:  Non 
solum  toga,  in  favor  of  their  race.  But  it  did  not 
seem  as  if  these  bearded  ancestors  looked  with  much 
gratitude  upon  this  parliamentary  flower  added  to 
their  feudal  crest.  They  appeared  to  look  down  from 
the  height  of  their  worm-eaten  frames  upon  their  en- 
robed descendants  with  that  disdainful  smile  with 
which  the  peers  of  France  used  to  greet  men  of  law 
the  first  time  they  were  called  to  sit  by  their  side,  after 
being  for  so  long  a  time  at  their  feet. 

In  the  space  between  the  windows  and  upon  the 
remaining  woodwork  was  a  crowd  of  military  men, 
with  here  and  there  an  Abbe  with  cross  and  mitre, 
a  Commander  of  Malta,  and  a  solemn  Canon,  sterile 
branches  of  this  genealogical  tree.  Several  among 
the  military  ones  wore  sashes  and  plumes  of  the  col- 
ors of  Lorraine;  others,  even  before  the  union  of  this 
province  to  France,  had  served  the  latter  country; 
there  were  lieutenant-colonels  of  infantry  and  cavalry; 
[18] 


GERFAUT 

some  dressed  in  blue  coats  lined  with  buff  serge  and 
little  round  patches  of  black  plush,  which  served  as 
the  uniform  for  the  dragoons  of  the  Lorraine  legion. 

Last  of  all  was  a  young  man  with  an  agreeable 
face,  who  smiled  superciliously  from  under  a  vast  wig 
of  powdered  hair;  a  rose  was  in  the  buttonhole  of 
his  green  cloth  pelisse  with  orange  facings,  a  red  sabre- 
cache  hung  against  his  boots  a  little  lower  than  the 
hilt  of  his  sabre.  The  costume  represented  a  sprightly 
officer  of  the  Royal  Nassau  hussars.  The  portrait 
was  hung  on  the  left  of  the  entrance  door  and  only 
separated  by  it  from  his  great-grandfather  of  1247, 
whom  he  might  have  assisted,  had  these  venerable 
portraits  taken  some  night  a  fancy  to  descend  from 
their  frames  to  execute  a  dance  such  as  Hoffmann 
dreamed. 

These  two  persons  were  the  alpha  and  the  omega 
of  this  genealogical  tree,  the  two  extreme  links  of 
the  chain — one,  the  root  buried  in  the  sands  of  time; 
the  other,  the  branch  which  had  blossomed  at  the 
top.  Fate  had  created  a  tragical  resemblance  be- 
tween these  two  lives,  separated  by  more  than  five 
centuries.  The  chevalier  in  coat-of-mail  had  been 
killed  in  the  battle  of  the  Mansourah  during  the  first 
crusade  of  St.  Louis.  The  young  man  with  the  super- 
cilious smile  had  mounted  the  scaffold  during  the 
Reign  of  Terror,  holding  between  his  lips  a  rose,  his 
usual  decoration  for  his  coat.  The  history  of  the 
French  nobility  was  embodied  in  these  two  men,  born 
in  blood,  who  had  died  in  blood. 

Large  gilded  frames  of  Gothic  style  surrounded  all 
[19] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

these  portraits.  At  the  right,  on  the  bottom  of  each 
picture  was  painted  a  little  escutcheon  having  for  its 
crest  a  baronial  coronet  and  for  supports  two  wild  men 
armed  with  clubs.  The  field  was  red;  with  its  three 
bulls'  heads  in  silver,  it  announced  to  people  well 
versed  in  heraldic  art  that  they  had  before  them  the 
lineaments  of  noble  and  powerful  lords,  squires  of 
Reisnach-Bergenheim,  lords  of  Reisnach  in  Suabia, 
barons  of  the  Holy  Empire,  lords  of  Sapois,  Labresse, 
Gerbamont,  etc.,  counts  of  Bergenheim,  the  latter 
title  granted  them  by  Louis  XV,  chevaliers  of  Lorraine, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

This  ostentatious  enumeration  was  not  needed  in 
order  to  recognize  the  kindred  of  all  these  noble  per- 
sonages. Had  they  been  mingled  with  other  portraits, 
a  careful  observer  would  have  promptly  distinguished 
and  reunited  them,  so  pronounced  were  the  family 
features  common  to  them  all.  The  furniture  of  the 
room  was  not  unworthy  of  these  proud  defunct  ones. 
High-backed  chairs  and  enormous  armchairs,  dating 
from  the  time  of  Louis  XIII;  more  modern  sofas, 
which  had  been  made  to  harmonize  with  the  older 
furniture,  filled  the  room.  They  were  covered  with 
flowered  tapestry  in  thousands  of  shades,  which  must 
have  busied  the  white  hands  of  the  ladies  of  the  house 
for  two  or  three  generations  past. 

The  row  of  portraits  was  interrupted  on  one  side 
by  a  large  fireplace  of  grayish  granite,  which  was  too 
high  for  one  to  hang  a  mirror  above  or  to  place  orna- 
ments upon  its  mantel.  Opposite  was  an  ebony  con- 
sole inlaid  with  ivory,  upon  which  was  placed  one  of 
[20] 


GERFAUT 

those  elegant  clocks  whose  delicate  and  original  chased 
work  has  not  been  eclipsed  by  any  modern  workman- 
ship. Two  large  Japanese  vases  accompanied  it;  the 
whole  was  reflected  in  an  antique  mirror  which  hung 
above  the  console;  its  edges  were  bevelled,  doubtless  in 
order  to  cause  one  to  admire  the  thickness  of  the  glass. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  imagine  a  stronger  con- 
trast than  that  of  this  Gothic  room  with  the  lady  in 
the  rose-colored  gown  who  had  just  entered  it  so  pre- 
cipitately. The  fire  upon  the  hearth  threw  a  warm 
light  over  the  old  portraits,  and  it  was  heightened 
by  the  heavy,  red  damask  curtains  which  hung  by 
the  windows.  The  light  sometimes  softened,  some- 
times revivified  by  some  sudden  flash  of  the  flames, 
glanced  over  the  scowling  faces  and  red  beards,  enliv- 
ening the  eyes  and  giving  a  supernatural  animation  to 
those  lifeless  canvases.  One  would  have  said  that 
the  cold,  grave  faces  looked  with  curiosity  at  the  young 
woman  with  graceful  movements  and  cool  garments, 
whom  Aladdin's  genii  seemed  to  have  transported 
from  the  most  elegant  boudoir  on  the  Chaussee- 
d'Antin,  and  thrown,  still  frightened,  into  the  midst  of 
this  strange  assembly. 

"You  are  crazy,  Clemence,  to  leave  that  window 
open!"  said  at  this  moment  an  old  voice  issuing  from 
an  armchair  placed  in  a  corner  near  the  fireplace. 

The  person  who  broke  the  charm  of  this  silent 
scene  was  a  woman  of  sixty  or  seventy  years  of  age, 
according  to  the  gallantry  of  the  calculator.  It  was 
easy  to  judge  that  she  was  tall  and  thin  as  she  lay, 
rather  than  sat,  in  her  chair  with  its  back  lowered 

[21] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

down.  She  was  dressed  in  a  yellowish-brown  gown. 
A  false  front  as  black  as  jet,  surmounted  by  a  cap 
with  poppy-colored  ribbons,  framed  her  face.  She 
had  sharp,  withered  features,  and  the  brilliancy  of 
her  primitive  freshness  had  been  converted  into  a 
blotched  and  pimpled  complexion  which  affected  above 
all  her  nose  and  cheek-bones,  but  whose  ardor  had 
been  dimmed  only  a  trifle  by  age.  There  was  some- 
thing about  the  whole  face  as  crabbed,  sour,  and  un- 
kind as  if  she  had  daily  bathed  it  in  vinegar.  One 
could  read  old  maid  in  every  feature!  Besides,  a 
slight  observation  of  her  ways  would  have  destroyed 
all  lingering  doubt  in  this  respect. 

A  large,  coffee-colored  pug-dog  was  lying  before  the 
fire.  This  interesting  animal  served  as  a  footstool 
for  his  mistress,  stretched  in  her  easy-chair,  and  re- 
called to  mind  the  lions  which  sleep  at  the  foot  of 
chevaliers  in  their  Gothic  tombs.  As  a  pug-dog  and 
an  old  maid  pertain  to  each  other,  it  was  only  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  divine  this  venerable  lady's  state, 
to  read  the  name  upon  the  golden  circlet  which  served 
as  a  collar  for  the  dog:  "Constance  belongs  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil." 

Before  the  younger  lady,  who  was  leaning  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair,  seeming  to  breathe  with  difficulty, 
had  time  to  reply,  she  received  a  second  injunction. 

"But,  aunt,"  said  she,  at  last,  "it  was  a  horrible 
crash!  Did  you  not  hear  it?" 

"I  am  not  so  deaf  as  that  yet,"  replied  the  old  maid. 
"Shut  that  window;  do  you  not  know  that  currents 
of  air  attract  lightning?" 

[22] 


GERFAUT 

Clemence  obeyed,  dropping  the  curtain  to  shut  out 
the  flashes  of  lightning  which  continued  to  dart  through 
the  heavens;  she  then  approached  the  fireplace. 

"Since  you  are  so  afraid  of  lightning,"  said  her 
aunt;  "which,  by  the  way,  is  perfectly  ridiculous  in 
a  Corandeuil,  what  induced  you  to  go  out  upon  the 
balcony?  The  sleeve  of  your  gown  is  wet.  That  is 
the  way  one  gets  cold;  afterward,  there  is  nothing 
but  an  endless  array  of  syrups  and  drugs.  You  ought 
to  change  your  gown  and  put  on  something  warmer. 
Who  would  ever  think  of  dressing  like  that  in  such 
weather  as  this?" 

t(I  assure  you,  aunt,  it  is  not  cold.  It  is  because 
you  have  a  habit  of  always  being  near  the  fire — 

"Ah!  habit!  when  you  are  my  age  you  will  not 
hint  at  such  a  thing.  Now,  everything  goes  wonder- 
fully well;  you  never  listen  to  my  advice — you  go  out 
in  the  wind  and  rain  with  that  flighty  Aline  and  your 
husband,  who  has  no  more  sense  than  his  sister;  you 
will  pay  for  it  later.  Open  the  curtains,  I  pray;  the 
storm  is  over,  and  I  wish  to  read  the  Gazette." 

The  young  woman  obeyed  a  second  time  and  stood 
with  her  forehead  pressed  against  the  glass.  The 
distant  rumbling  of  the  thunder  announced  the  end  of 
the  storm;  but  a  few  flashes  still  traversed  the  horizon. 

"Aunt,"  said  she,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "come 
and  look  at  the  Montigny  rocks;  when  the  lightning 
strikes  them  they  look  like  a  file  of  silver  columns  or 
a  procession  of  ghosts." 

"What  a  romantic  speech,"  growled  the  old  lady, 
never  taking  her  eyes  from  her  paper. 
[23] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  assure  you  I  am  not  romantic  the  least  in  the 
world,"  replied  Clemence.  "I  simply  find  the  storm 
a  distraction,  and  here,  you  know,  there  is  no  great 
choice  of  pleasures." 

"Then  you  find  it  dull?" 

"Oh,  aunt,  horribly  so!"  At  these  words,  pro- 
nounced with  a  heartfelt  accent,  the  young  woman 
dropped  into  an  armchair. 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  took  off  her  eye-glasses, 
put  the  paper  upon  the  table  and  gazed  for  several 
moments  at  her  pretty  niece's  face,  which  was  tinged 
with  a  look  of  deep  melancholy.  She  then  straight- 
ened herself  up  in  her  chair,  and,  leaning  forward, 
asked  in  a  low  tone: 

"Have  you  had  any  trouble  with  your  hus- 
band?" 

"If  so,  I  should  not  be  so  bored,"  replied  Clemence, 
in  a  gay  tone,  which  she  repented  immediately,  for 
she  continued  more  calmly: 

"No,  aunt;  Christian  is  kind,  very  kind;  he  is  very 
much  attached  to  me,  and  full  of  good-humor  and 
attentions.  You  have  seen  how  he  has  allowed  me  to 
arrange  my  apartments  to  suit  myself,  even  taking  down 
the  partition  and  enlarging  the  windows;  and  yet, 
you  know  how  much  he  clings  to  everything  that  is 
old  about  the  house.  He  tries  to  do  everything  for 
my  pleasure.  Did  he  not  go  to  Strasbourg  the  other 
day  to  buy  a  pony  for  me,  because  I  thought  Titania 
was  too  skittish?  It  would  be  impossible  to  show 
greater  kindness." 

"Your  husband,"  suddenly  interrupted  Mademoi- 


GERFAUT 

selle  de  Corandeuil,  for  she  Held  the  praise  of  others 
in  sovereign  displeasure,  "is  a  Bergenheim  like  all  the 
Bergenheims  present,  past,  and  future,  including  your 
little  sister-in  law,  who  appears  more  as  if  she  had 
been  brought  up  with  boys  than  at  the  '  Sacred  Heart. ' 
He  is  a  worthy  son  of  his  father  there,"  said  she, 
pointing  to  one  of  the  portraits  near  the  young  Royal- 
Nassau  officer;  "and  he  was  the  most  brutal,  unbear- 
able, and  detestable  of  all  the  dragoons  in  Lorraine; 
so  much  so  that  he  got  into  three  quarrels  at  Nancy 
in  one  month,  and  at  Metz,  over  a  game  of  checkers, 
he  killed  the  poor  Vicomte  de  Megrigny,  who  was 
worth  a  hundred  of  him  and  danced  so  well!  Some 
one  described  Bergenheim  as  being  'proud  as  a  pea- 
cock, as  stubborn  as  a  mule,  and  as  furious  as  a  lion!' 
Ugly  race!  ugly  race!  What  I  say  to  you  now,  Cle- 
mence,  is  to  excuse  your  husband's  faults,  for  it  would 
be  time  lost  to  try  to  correct  them.  However,  all  men 
are  alike;  and  since  you  are  Madame  de  Bergenheim, 
you  must  accept  your  fate  and  bear  it  as  well  as  pos- 
sible. And  then,  if  you  have  your  troubles,  you  still 
have  your  good  aunt  to  whom  you  can  confide  them 
and  who  will  not  allow  you  to  be  tyrannized  over. 
I  will  speak  to  your  husband." 

Clemence  saw,  from  the  first  words  of  this  tirade, 
that  she  must  arm  herself  with  resignation;  for  any- 
thing which  concerned  the  Bergenheims  aroused  one  of 
the  hobbies  which  the  old  maid  rode  with  a  most  com- 
placent spite;  so  she  settled  herself  back  in  her  chair 
like  a  person  who  would  at  least  be  comfortable  while 
she  listened  to  a  tiresome  discourse,  and  busied  her- 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

self  during  this  lecture  caressing  with  the  tip  of  a  very 
shapely  foot  the  top  of  one  of  the  andirons. 

"But,  aunt,"  said  she  at  last,  when  the  tirade  was 
over,  and  she  gave  a  rather  drawling  expression  to 
her  voice,  "I  can  not  understand  why  you  have  taken 
this  idea  into  your  head  that  Christian  renders  me 
unhappy.  I  repeat  it,  it  is  impossible  that  one  should 
be  kinder  to  me  than  he,  and,  on  my  side,  I  have  the 
greatest  respect  and  friendship  for  him." 

"Very  well,  if  he  is  such  a  pearl  of  husbands,  if  you 
live  so  much  like  turtle-doves— and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it — what  causes  this  ennui 
of  which  you  complain  and  which  has  been  perfectly 
noticeable  for  some  time  ?  When  I  say  ennui,  it  is 
more  than  that ;  it  is  sadness,  it  is  grief  ?  You  grow 
thinner  every  day;  you  are  as  pale  as  a  ghost;  just 
at  this  moment,  your  complexion  is  gone;  you  will 
end  by  being  a  regular  fright.  They  say  that  it  is 
the  fashion  to  be  pale  nowadays;  a  silly  notion,  indeed, 
but  it  will  not  last,  for  complexion  makes  the  woman." 

The  old  lady  said  this  like  a  person  who  had  her 
reasons  for  not  liking  pale  complexions,  and  who  gladly 
took  pimples  for  roses. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  bowed  her  head  as  if  to 
acquiesce  in  this  decision,  and  then  resumed  in  her 
drawling  voice: 

"I  know  that  I  am  very  unreasonable,  and  I  am 
often  vexed  with  myself  for  having  so  little  control 
over  my  feelings,  but  it  is  beyond  my  strength.  I 
have  a  tired  sensation,  a  disgust  for  everything,  some- 
thing which  I  can  not  overcome.  It  is  an  inexplicable 
[26]. 


GERFAUT 

physical  and  moral  languor,  for  which,  for  this  reason, 
I  see  no  remedy.  I  am  weary  and  I  suffer;  I  am  sure 
it  will  end  in  my  being  ill.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  were 
dead.  However,  I  have  really  no  reason  to  be  un- 
happy. I  suppose  I  am  happy — I  ought  to  be  happy." 

"Truly,  I  can  not  understand  in  the  least  the  wo- 
men of  to-day.  Formerly,  upon  exciting  occasions, 
we  had  a  good  nervous  attack  and  all  was  over;  the 
crisis  passed,  we  became  amiable  again,  put  on  rouge 
and  went  to  a  ball.  Now  it  is  languor,  ennui,  stomach 
troubles — all  imagination  and  humbug!  The  men  are 
just  as  bad,  and  they  call  it  spleen!  Spleen!  a  new 
discovery,  an  English  importation!  Fine  things  come 
to  us  from  England;  to  begin  with,  the  constitutional 
government!  All  this  is  perfectly  ridiculous.  As  for 
you,  Clemence,  you  ought  to  put  an  end  to  such 
childishness.  Two  months  ago,  in  Paris,  you  did  not 
have  any  of  the  rest  that  you  enjoy  here.  I  had 
serious  reasons  for  wishing  to  delay  my  departure; 
my  apartment  to  refurnish,  my  neuralgia  which  still 
troubles  me— and  Constance,  who  had  just  been  in 
the  hands  of  the  doctor,  was  hardly  in  a  condition  to 
travel,  poor  creature!  You  would  listen  to  nothing; 
we  had  to  submit  to  your  caprices,  and  now ' 

"But,  aunt,  you  admitted  yourself  that  it  was  the 
proper  thing  for  me  to  do,  to  join  my  husband.  Was 
it  not  enough,  and  too  much,  to  have  left  him  to  pass 
the  entire  winter  alone  here  while  I  was  dancing  in 
Paris?" 

"It  was  very  proper,  of  course,  and  I  do  not  blame 
you.  But  why  does  the  very  thing  you  so  much  de- 
[27] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

sired  two  months  ago  bore  you  so  terribly  now?  In 
Paris  you  talked  all  the  time  of  Bergenheim,  longed 
only  for  Bergenheim,  you  had  duties  to  fulfil,  you 
wished  to  be  with  your  husband;  you  bothered  and 
wore  me  out  with  your  conjugal  love.  When  back  at 
Bergenheim,  you  dream  and  sigh  for  Paris.  Do  not 
shake  your  head;  I  am  an  old  aunt  to  whom  you  pay 
no  heed,  but  who  sees  clearly  yet.  Will  you  do  me 
the  favor  to  tell  me  what  it  is  that  you  regret  in  Paris 
at  this  time  of  the  year,  when  there  are  no  balls  or 
parties,  and  not  one  human  being  worth  visiting,  for 
all  the  people  you  know  are  in  the  country?  Is  it 
because — 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  did  not  finish  her  sen- 
tence, but  she  put  a  severity  into  these  three  words 
which  seemed  to  condense  all  the  quintessence  of  pru- 
dery that  a  celibacy  of  sixty  years  could  coagulate  in 
an  old  maid's  heart. 

Clemence  raised  her  eyes  to  her  aunt's  face  as  if 
to  demand  an  explanation. 

It  was  such  a  calm,  steady  glance  that  the  latter 
could  not  help  being  impressed  by  it. 

"Well,"  said  she,  softening  her  voice,  "there  is  no 
necessity  for  putting  on  such  queenly  airs;  we  are 
here  alone,  and  you  know  that  I  am  a  kind  aunt  to 
you.  Now,  then,  speak  freely — have  you  left  any- 
thing or  any  person  in  Paris,  the  remembrance  of 
which  makes  your  sojourn  here  more  tiresome  than 
it  really  is?  Any  of  your  adorers  of  the  winter?" 

"Wrhat  an  idea,  aunt!  Did  I  have  any  adorers?" 
exclaimed  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  quickly,  as  if  try- 
[28] 


GERFAUT 

ing  to  conceal  by  a  smile  the  rosy  flush  that  mounted 
to  her  cheeks. 

"And  what  if  you  should  have  some,  child?"  con- 
tinued the  old  maid,  to  whom  curiosity  lent  an  unac- 
customed coaxing  accent  to  her  voice,  "where  would 
be  the  harm?  Is  it  forbidden  to  please?  When  one 
is  of  good  birth,  must  one  not  live  in  society  and  hold 
one's  position  there?  One  need  not  bury  one's  self 
in  a  desert  at  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and  you  really 
are  charming  enough  to  inspire  love;  you  understand, 
I  do  not  say,  to  experience  it;  but  when  one  is  young 
and  pretty  conquests  are  made  almost  unwittingly. 
You  are  not  the  first  of  the  family  to  whom  that  has 
happened;  you  are  a  Corandeuil.  Now,  then,  my  good 
Clemence,  what  troubled  heart  is  pining  for  you  in 
Paris?  Is  it  Monsieur  de  Mauleon?" 

"Monsieur  de  Mauleon!"  exclaimed  the  young 
woman,  bursting  into  laughter;  "he,  a  heart!  and  a 
troubled  one,  too!  Oh,  aunt,  you  do  him  honor!  Mon- 
sieur de  Mauleon,  who  is  past  forty-five  years  old 
and  wears  stays!  an  audacious  man  who  squeezes  his 
partners'  hands  in  the  dance  and  looks  at  them  with 
passionate  glances!  Oh!  Monsieur  de  Mauleon!" 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  sanctioned  by  a  slight 
grimace  of  her  thin  lips  her  niece's  burst  of  gayety, 
when,  with  one  hand  upon  her  heart,  she  rolled  her 
sparkling  eyes  in  imitation  of  the  languishing  air  of 
her  unfortunate  adorer. 

"Perhaps  it  is  Monsieur  d'Arzenac?" 

"Monsieur  d'Arzenac  is  certainly  very  nice;  he  has 
perfect  manners;  it  may  be  that  he  did  not  disdain  to 
[29] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

chat  with  me;  on  my  side,  I  found  his  conversation 
very  entertaining;  but  you  may  rest  assured  that  he 
did  not  think  of  me  nor  I  of  him.  Besides,  you 
know  that  he  is  engaged  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Neuville." 

"Monsieur  de  Gerfaut?"  continued  Mademoiselle 
de  Corandeuil,  with  the  persistency  with  which  aged 
people  follow  an  idea,  and  as  if  determined  to  pass  in 
review  all  the  young  men  of  their  acquaintance  until 
she  had  discovered  her  niece's  secret. 

The  latter  was  silent  a  moment  before  replying. 

"How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing,  aunt?"  said 
she  at  last,  "a  man  with  such  a  bad  reputation,  who 
writes  books  that  one  hardly  dares  read,  and  plays  that 
it's  almost  a  sin  to  witness!  Did  you  not  hear  Madame 
de  Pontivers  say  that  a  young  woman  who  cared  for 
her  reputation  would  permit  his  visits  very  rarely?" 

"Madame  de  Pontivers  is  a  prude,  whom  I  can 
not  endure,  with  her  show  of  little  grimaces  and  her 
pretentious,  outrageous  mock-modesty.  Did  she  not 
take  it  into  her  head  this  winter  to  constitute  me  her 
chaperon?  I  gave  her  to  understand  that  a  widow 
forty  years  old  was  quite  old  enough  to  go  about  alone ! 
She  has  a  mania  for  fearing  that  she  may  be  compro- 
mised. The  idea  of  turning  up  her  nose  at  Monsieur 
de  Gerfaut!  What  presumption!  He  certainly  is  too 
clever  ever  to  solicit  the  honor  of  being  bored  to 
death  in  her  house;  for  he  is  clever,  very  clever.  I 
never  could  understand  your  dislike  for  him,  nor  your 
haughty  manner  of  treating  him;  especially,  during 
the  latter  part  of  our  stay  in  Paris." 
[30] 


GERFAUT 

"One  is  not  mistress  of  one's  dislikes  or  affections, 
aunt.  But  to  reply  to  your  questions,  I  will  say  that 
you  may  rest  assured  that  none  of  these  gentlemen, 
nor  any  of  those  whom  you  might  name,  has  the 
slightest  effect  upon  my  state  of  mind.  I  am  bored 
because  it  probably  is  my  nature  to  need  distractions, 
and  there  are  none  in  this  deserted  place.  It  is  an 
involuntary  disagreeableness,  for  which  I  reproach  my- 
self and  which  I  hope  will  pass  away.  Rest  assured, 
that  the  root  of  the  evil  does  not  lie  in  my  heart." 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  understood  by  the  cold 
and  rather  dry  tone  in  which  these  words  were  spoken 
that  her  niece  wished  to  keep  her  secret,  if  she  had 
one;  she  could  not  prevent  a  gesture  of  anger  as  she 
saw  her  advances  thus  repelled,  but  felt  that  she  was 
no  wiser  than  when  she  began  the  conversation.  She 
manifested  her  disappointment  by  pushing  the  dog 
aside  with  her  foot — the  poor  thing  was  perfectly  in- 
nocent!— and  in  a  cross  tone,  which  was  much  more 
familiar  than  her  former  coaxing  one,  she  continued: 

"Very  well,  since  I  am  wrong,  since  your  husband 
adores  you  and  you  him,  since,  to  sum  it  all  up,  your 
heart  is  perfectly  tranquil  and  free,  your  conduct  is 
devoid  of  common-sense,  and  I  advise  you  to  change 
it.  I  warn  you  that  all  this  hypochondria,  paleness, 
and  languor  are  caprices  which  are  very  disagreeable 
to  others.  There  is  a  Provence  proverb  which  says: 
V alliance  de  Blacas,  prudence  de  Pontevez,  caprice  de 
Corandeuil.  If  there  was  not  such  a  saying,  it  should 
be  created  for  you,  for  you  have  something  incom- 
prehensible enough  in  your  character  to  make  a  saint 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

swear.  If  anybody  should  know  you,  it  is  I,  who 
brought  you  up.  I  do  not  wish  to  reproach  you,  but 
you  gave  me  trouble  enough;  you  were  a  most  way- 
ward, capricious,  and  fantastic  creature,  a  spoiled 
child— 

"Aunt,"  interrupted  Clemence,  with  heightened 
color  in  her  pale  cheeks,  "you  have  told  me  of  my 
faults  often  enough  for  me  to  know  them,  and,  if  they 
were  not  corrected,  it  was  not  your  fault,  for  you  never 
spared  me  scoldings.  If  I  had  not  been  so  unfort- 
unate as  to  lose  my  mother  when  I  was  a  baby,  I 
should  not  have  given  you  so  much  trouble." 

Tears  came  into  the  young  woman's  eyes,  but  she 
had  enough  control  over  herself  to  keep  them  from 
streaming  down  her  burning  cheeks.  Taking  a  journal 
from  the  table,  she  opened  it,  in  order  to  conceal  her 
emotion  and  to  put  an  end  to  this  conversation,  which 
had  become  painful  to  her.  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil,  on  her  side,  carefully  replaced  her  eye-glasses 
upon  her  nose,  and,  solemnly  stretching  herself  upon 
her  chair,  she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  Gazette  de 
France,  which  she  had  neglected  so  long. 

Silence  reigned  for  some  moments  in  the  room. 
The  aunt  apparently  read  the  paper  very  attentively. 
Her  niece  sat  motionless,  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon 
the  yellow  cover  of  the  last  number  of  La  Mode,  which 
had  chanced  to  fall  into  her  hands.  She  aroused  her- 
self at  last  from  her  revery  and  carelessly  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  the  review  in  a  manner  which  showed 
how  little  interest  she  felt  in  it.  As  she  turned  the 
first  page  a  surprised  cry  escaped  her,  and  her  eyes 
[32] 


GERFAUT 

were  fastened  upon  the  pamphlet  with  eager  curiosity. 
Upon  the  frontispiece,  where  the  Duchesse  de  Berry's 
coat-of-arms  is  engraved,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
shield,  which  was  left  empty  at  this  time  by  the  ab- 
sence of  the  usual  fleurs  de  lys,  was  sketched  with  a 
pencil  a  bird  whose  head  was  surmounted  by  a  baron's 
coronet. 

Curious  to  know  what  could  have  caused  her  niece 
so  much  surprise,  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  stretched 
out  her  neck  and  gazed  for  an  instant  upon  the  page 
without  seeing,  at  first,  anything  extraordinary,  but 
finally  her  glance  rested  upon  the  armorial  bearings, 
and  she  discovered  the  new  feature  added  to  the  royal 
Bourbon  coat-of-arms. 

"A  cock!"  exclaimed  she,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion; "a  cock  upon  Madame's  shield!  What  can  that 
mean,  ban  Dieu!  and  it  is  not  engraved  nor  litho- 
graphed; it  is  drawn  with  a  pencil." 

"It  is  not  a  cock,  it  is  a  crowned  gerfaut,"  said 
Madame  de  Bergenheim. 

"A  gerfaut!  How  do  you  know  what  a  gerfaut  is? 
At  Corandeuil,  in  your  grandfather's  time,  there  was 
a  falconry,  and  I  have  seen  gerfauts  there,  but  you — 
I  tell  you  it  is  a  cock,  an  old  French  cock;  ugly  thing! 
What  you  take  for  a  coronet — and  it  really  does  re- 
semble one— is  a  badly  drawn  cock's  comb.  How  did 
this  horrid  creature  come  to  be  there  ?  I  should  like  to 
know  if  such  pretty  tricks  are  permitted  at  the  post- 
office.  People  protest  against  the  cabinet  noir,  but  it 
is  a  hundred  times  worse  if  one  is  permitted  to  out- 
rage with  impunity  peaceable  families  in  their  own 
3  [33] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

homes.  I  mean  to  find  out  who  has  played  this  trick. 
Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  ring  the  bell?" 

"It  really  is  very  strange!"  said  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim,  pulling  the  bell-rope  with  a  vivacity  which 
showed  that  she  shared,  if  not  the  indignation,  at  least 
the  curiosity  of  her  aunt. 

A  servant  in  green  livery  appeared. 

"Who  went  to  Remiremont  yesterday  for  the  news- 
papers?" asked  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil. 

"It  was  Pere  Rousselet,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the 
servant. 

"Where  is  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim?" 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  is  playing  billiards  with  Made- 
moiselle Aline." 

"Send  Leonard  Rousselet  here." 

And  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  settled  herself 
back  in  her  chair  with  the  dignity  of  a  chancellor 
about  to  hold  court. 


[34] 


CHAPTER  III 

A  DIVIDED  HOUSEHOLD 

E  servants  in  the  castle  of  Bergen- 
heim  formed  a  family  whose  mem- 
bers were  far  from  living  in  harmony. 
The  Baron  managed  his  household 
himself,  and  employed  a  large  num- 
ber of  day-laborers,  farm  servants, 
and  kitchen-girls,  whom  the  liveried 
servants  treated  with  great  disdain. 
The  rustics,  on  their  side,  resisted  these  privileged 
lackeys  and  called  them  "coxcombs"  and  "Parisians," 
sometimes  accompanying  these  remarks  with  the  most 
expressive  blows.  Between  these  tribes  of  sworn  ene- 
mies a  third  class,  much  less  numerous,  found  them- 
selves in  a  critical  position ;  these  were  the  two  servants 
brought  by  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil.  It  was 
fortunate  for  them  that  their  mistress  liked  large, 
vigorous  men,  and  had  chosen  them  for  their  broad, 
military  shoulders;  but  for  that  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  them  to  come  out  of  their  daily  quar- 
rels safe  and  sound. 

The  question  of  superiority  between  the  two  house- 
holds had  been  the  first  apple  of  discord ;  a  number  of 
personal  quarrels  followed  to  inflame  them.  They 
fought  for  their  colors  the  whole  time;  the  Bergen- 
heim  livery  was  red,  the  Corandeuil  green.  There 
[35] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

were  two  flags;  each  exalted  his  own  while  throwing 
that  of  his  adversaries  in  the  mud.  Greenhorn  and 
crab  were  jokes;  cucumber  and  lobster  were  insults. 

Such  were  the  gracious  terms  exchanged  every  day 
between  the  two  parties.  In  the  midst  of  this  civil 
war,  which  was  carefully  concealed  from  their  mas- 
ters' eyes,  whose  severity  they  feared,  lived  one  rather 
singular  personage.  Leonard  Rousselet,  Fere  Rous- 
selet,  as  he  was  generally  called,  was  an  old  peas- 
ant who,  disheartened  with  life,  had  made  various 
efforts  to  get  out  of  his  sphere,  but  had  never  succeeded 
in  doing  so.  Having  been  successively  hair-dresser, 
sexton,  school-teacher,  nurse,  and  gardener,  he  had 
ended,  when  sixty  years  old,  by  falling  back  to  the 
very  point  whence  he  started.  He  had  no  particular 
employment  in  M.  de  Bergenheim's  house;  he  went 
on  errands,  cared  for  the  gardens,  and  doctored  the 
mules  and  horses;  he  was  a  tall  man,  about  as  much 
at  ease  in  his  clothing  as  a  dry  almond  in  its  shell. 
A  long,  dark,  yellow  coat  usually  hung  about  the 
calves  of  his  legs,  which  were  covered  with  long,  blue 
woollen  stockings,  and  looked  more  like  vine-poles 
than  human  legs;  a  conformation  which  furnished 
daily  jokes  for  the  other  servants,  to  which  the  old 
man  deigned  no  response  save  a  disdainful  smile, 
grumbling  through  his  teeth,  "Menials,  peasants  with- 
out education."  This  latter  speech  expressed  the 
late  gardener's  scorn,  for  it  had  been  his  greatest  grief 
to  pass  for  an  uneducated  man;  and  he  had  gathered 
from  his  various  conditions  a  singularly  dignified  and 
pretentious  way  of  speaking. 
[36] 


GERFAUT 

In  spite  of  his  self-confidence,  it  was  not  without 
some  emotion  that  Leonard  Rousselet  responded  to 
this  call  to  appear  in  the  drawing-room  before  the 
person  he  most  feared  in  the  chateau.  His  bearing 
showed  this  feeling  when  he  presented  himself  at  the 
drawing-room  door,  where  he  stood  as  grave  and  si- 
lent as  Banquo's  ghost.  Constance  arose  at  sight  of 
this  fantastic  figure,  barked  furiously  and  darted  tow- 
ard a  pair  of  legs  for  which  she  seemed  to  share  the 
irreverence  of  the  liveried  servants;  but  the  texture  of 
the  blue  stocking  and  the  flesh  which  covered  the 
tibia  were  rather  too  hard  morsels  for  the  dowager's 
teeth;  she  was  obliged  to  give  up  the  attack  and  con- 
tent herself  with  impotent  barks,  while  the  old  man, 
who  would  gladly  have  given  a  month's  wages  to 
break  her  jaw  with  the  tip  of  his  boot,  caressed  her 
with  his  hand,  saying,  "Softly,  pretty  dear!  softly, 
pretty  little  creature!"  in  a  hypocritical  tone. 

This  courtier-like  conduct  touched  the  old  lady's 
heart  and  softened  the  severe  look  upon  her  face. 

"Stop  your  noise,  Constance,"  said  she,  "lie  down 
beside  your  mistress.  Rousselet,  come  nearer." 

The  old  man  obeyed,  walking  across  the  floor  with 
reverential  bows,  and  taking  a  position  like  a  soldier 
presenting  arms. 

"You  were  the  one,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil,  "who  was  sent  to  Remiremont  yesterday?  Did 
you  perform  all  the  commissions  that  were  given 
you?" 

"It  is  not  among  the  impossibilities,  Mademoiselle, 
that  I  may  have  neglected  some  of  them,"  replied 
[37] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

the  old  man,  fearing  to  compromise  himself  by  a  posi- 
tive affirmative. 

"Tell  us,  then,  what  you  did." 

Leonard  wiped  his  nose  behind  his  hat,  like  a  well- 
bred  orator,  and,  balancing  himself  upon  his  legs  in 
a  way  not  at  all  Bourbonic,  he  said: 

"I  went  to  the  city  that  morning  myself  because 
Monsieur  le  Baron  had  said  the  night  before  that  he 
should  hunt  to-day,  and  that  the  groom  was  to  help 
Monsieur  le  Baron  drive  a  wild  boar  out  of  the 
Corne  woods.  I  reached  Remiremont;  I  went  to  the 
butcher's;  I  purchased  five  kilogrammes  of  dressed 
goods " 

"Of  dressed  goods  at  the  butcher's!"  exclaimed 
Madame  de  Bergenheim. 

"I  would  say  ten  pounds  of  what  uneducated  people 
call  pork,"  said  Rousselet,  pronouncing  this  last  word 
in  a  strangled  voice. 

"Pass  over  these  details,"  said  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil.  "You  went  to  the  post-office." 

"I  went  to  the  post-office,  where  I  put  in  letters 
for  Mademoiselle,  Madame,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  and 
one  from  Mademoiselle  Aline  for  Monsieur  d'Artigues. " 

"Aline  writing  to  her  cousin!  Did  you  know  that?" 
said  the  old  aunt,  turning  quickly  toward  her  niece. 

"Certainly;  they  correspond  regularly,"  replied  C16- 
mence  with  a  smile  which  seemed  to  say  that  she  saw 
no  harm  in  it. 

The  old  maid  shook  her  head  and  protruded  her 
under  lip,  as  much  as  to  say:  We  will  attend  to  this 
another  time. 

[38] 


GERFAUT 

Madame  de  Bergenheim,  who  was  out  of  patience 
at  this  questioning,  began  to  speak  in  a  quick  tone 
which  was  a  contrast  to  her  aunt's  solemn  slowness. 

"Rousselet,"  said  she,  "when  you  took  the  news- 
papers out  of  the  office,  did  you  notice  whether  the 
wrappers  were  intact,  or  whether  they  had  been 
opened?" 

The  good  man  half  concealed  his  face  in  his  cravat 
at  this  precise  questioning,  and  it  was  with  embarrass- 
ment that  he  replied,  after  a  moment's  hesitation: 

"Certainly,  Madame — as  to  the  wrappers — I  do  not 
accuse  the  postmaster — 

"If  the  journals  were  sealed  when  you  received 
them,  you  are  the  only  one  who  could  have  opened 
them." 

Rousselet  straightened  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
and,  giving  to  his  nut-cracker  face  the  most  dignified 
look  possible,  he  said  in  a  solemn  tone: 

"With  due  deference  to  you,  Madame,  Leonard 
Rousselet  is  well  known.  Fifty-seven  years  old  on 
Saint-Hubert's  day,  I  am  incapable  of  opening  news- 
papers. When  they  have  been  read  at  the  chateau  and 
they  send  me  with  them  to  the  cure,  I  do  not  say — 
perhaps  on  my  way — it  is  a  recreation — and  then  the 
cure  is  Jean  Bartou,  son  of  Joseph  Bartou,  the  tile- 
maker.  But  to  read  the  newspaper  before  my  mas- 
ters have  done  so!  Never!  Leonard  Rousselet  is  an 
old  man  incapable  of  such  baseness.  Baptized  when  a 
child;  fifty-seven  years  on  Saint-Hubert's  day." 

"When  you  speak  of  your  pastor,  do  so  in  a  more 
becoming  manner,"  interrupted  Mademoiselle  de  Co- 
[39] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

randeuil,  although  she  herself  in  private  did  not  speak 
of  the  plebeian  priest  in  very  respectful  terms.  But 
if  Joseph  Bartou's  son  was  always  the  son  of  Joseph 
Bartou  to  her,  she  meant  that  he  should  be  Monsieur 
le  Cure"  to  the  peasants. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  not  been  much  affected 
by  Pere  Rousselet's  harangue,  and  shook  her  head  im- 
patiently, saying  in  an  imperative  tone: 

"I  am  certain  that  the  newspapers  have  been  opened 
by  you,  or  by  some  person  to  whom  you  have  given 
them,  and  I  wish  to  know  at  once  by  whom." 

Rousselet  dropped  his  pose  of  a  Roman  senator; 
passing  his  hand  behind  his  ears,  a  familiar  gesture 
with  people  when  in  embarrassing  positions,  he  con- 
tinued less  emphatically: 

"I  stopped  on  my  way  back  at  La  Fauconnerie,  at 
the  Femme-sans-Tete  Inn." 

"  And  what  were  you  doing  in  a  tavern  ?"  interrupted 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  severely.  "You  know  it 
is  not  intended  that  the  servants  in  this  house  should 
frequent  taverns  and  such  low  places,  which  are  not 
respectable  and  corrupt  the  morals  of  the  lower  classes. " 

" Servants!  lower  classes!  Old  aristocrat!"  growled 
Rousselet  secretly;  but,  not  daring  to  show  his  ill 
humor,  he  replied  in  a  bland  voice: 

"If  Mademoiselle  had  gone  the  same  road  that  I 
did,  with  the  same  conveyance,  she  would  know  that 
it  is  a  rather  thirsty  stretch.  I  stopped  at  the  Femme- 
sans-Tete  to  wash  the  dust  down  my  parched  throat. 
Whereupon  Mademoiselle  Reine — the  daughter  of  Ma- 
dame Gobillot,  the  landlady  of  the  inn — Mademoi- 
[4o] 


GERFAUT 

selle  Reine  asked  me  to  allow  her  to  look  at  the  yellow- 
journal  in  which  there  are  fashions  for  ladies;  I  asked 
her  why;  she  said  it  was  so  that  she  might  see  how 
they  made  their  bonnets,  gowns,  and  other  finery  in 
Paris.  The  frivolity  of  women!" 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  threw  herself  back  in 
her  chair  and  gave  way  to  an  access  of  hilarity  in  which 
she  rarely  indulged. 

"Mademoiselle  Gobillot  reading  La  Model  Ma- 
demoiselle Gobillot  talking  of  gowns,  shawls,  and 
cashmeres !  Clemence,  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  You 
will  see,  she  will  be  ordering  her  bonnets  from  Her- 
bault!  Ha!  ha!  This  is  what  is  called  the  progress 
of  civilization,  the  age  of  light!" 

"Mademoiselle  Gobillot,"  said  Clemence,  fixing  a 
penetrating  glance  upon  the  old  man,  "was  not  the 
only  one  who  looked  at  La  Mode.  Was  there  no  other 
person  in  the  tavern  who  saw  it?" 

"Madame,"  replied  Rousselet,  forced  from  his  last 
refuge,  "there  were  two  young  men  taking  their  re- 
fection, and  one  of  them  wore  a  beard  no  longer 
than  a  goat's.  Madame  will  pardon  me  if  I  allow 
myself  to  use  this  vulgar  expression,  but  Madame 
wished  to  know  all." 

"And  the  other  young  man?" 

"The  other  had  his  facial  epidermis  shaved  as  close 
as  a  lady's  or  mine.  He  was  the  one  who  held  the 
journal  while  his  comrade  was  smoking  outside  the 
door." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  made  no  further  inquiries, 
but  fell  into  a  profound  revery.  With  eyes  fixed  up- 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

on  the  last  number  of  La  Mode,  she  seemed  to  study 
the  slightest  lines  of  the  sketch  that  had  been  made 
thereon,  as  if  she  hoped  to  find  a  solution  to  the 
mystery.  Her  irregular  breathing,  and  the  bright 
flush  which  tinged  her  usually  pale  cheeks,  would 
have  denoted  to  an  eye-witness  one  of  those  tempests 
of  the  heart,  the  physical  manifestations  of  which  are 
like  those  of  a  fever.  The  pale  winter  flower  dying 
under  the  snow  had  suddenly  raised  its  drooping  head 
and  recovered  its  color;  the  melancholy  against  which 
the  young  woman  had  so  vainly  struggled  had  dis- 
appeared as  if  by  enchantment.  A  little  bird  sur- 
mounted by  a  coronet,  the  whole  rather  badly  sketch- 
ed, was  the  strange  talisman  that  had  produced  this 
change. 

"They  were  commercial  travellers,"  said  the  old 
aunt;  "they  always  pretend  to  know  everything.  One 
of  them,  doubtless,  when  reading  the  well-known  name 
of  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim  upon  the  wrapper,  sketched 
the  animal  in  question.  These  gentlemen  of  industry 
usually  have  a  rather  good  education!  But  this  is 
giving  the  affair  more  importance  than  it  merits. 
Leonard  Rousselet,"  said  she,  raising  her  voice  as  a 
judge  does  in  court  when  pronouncing  his  charge, 
"you  were  wrong  to  let  anything  addressed  to  your 
master  leave  your  hands.  We  will  excuse  you  this 
time,  but  I  warn  you  to  be  more  careful  in  future; 
when  you  go  to  Madame  Gobillot's,  you  may  say  to 
Mademoiselle  Reine,  from  me,  that  if  she  wishes  to 
read  La  Mode  I  shall  be  delighted  to  procure  a  sub- 
scriber to  one  of  our  journals.  You  may  retire  now." 
[42] 


GERFAUT 

Without  waiting  for  this  invitation  to  be  repeated, 
Rousselet  backed  out  of  the  room  like  an  ambassador 
leaving  the  royal  presence,  escorted  by  Constance  act- 
ing as  master  of  ceremonies.  Not  having  calculated 
the  distance,  he  had  just  bumped  against  the  door, 
when  it  suddenly  opened  and  a  person  of  extreme 
vivacity  bounded  into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

It  was  a  very  young  and  petite  lady,  whose  perfectly 
developed  form  predicted  an  inclination  to  stoutness 
in  the  future.  She  belonged  to  the  Bergenheim  family, 
if  one  could  credit  the  resemblance  between  her  char- 
acteristic features  and  several  of  the  old  portraits  in 
the  room;  she  wore  a  dark-brown  riding-habit,  a  gray 
hat  perched  on  one  side,  showing  on  the  left  a  mass  of 
very  curly,  bright  blond  hair.  This  coiffure  and  the 
long  green  veil,  floating  at  each  movement  like  the 
plume  in  a  helmet,  gave  a  singularly  easy  air  to  the 
fresh  face  of  this  pretty  amazon,  who  brandished,  in 
guise  of  a  lance,  a  billiard  cue. 

"Cle"mence,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  have  just  beaten 
Christian;  I  made  the  red  ball,  I  made  the  white, 
and  then  the  double  stroke;  I  made  all!  Mademoi- 
selle, I  have  just  beaten  Christian  two  games;  is  it 
not  glorious?  He  made  only  eighteen  points  in  a 
single  game.  Pere  Rousselet,  I  have  just  beaten 
Christian!  Do  you  know  how  to  play  billiards?" 

"Mademoiselle  Aline,  I  am  absolutely  ignorant  of 
the  game,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  as  gracious  a 
smile  as  was  possible,  while  he  tried  to  recover  his 
equilibrium. 

"You  are  needed  no  longer,  Rousselet,"  said  Made- 
[43] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

moiselle  de  Corandeuil;  "close  the  door  as  you  go 
out." 

When  she  had  been  obeyed,  the  old  maid  turned 
gravely  toward  Aline,  who  was  still  dancing  about  the 
room,  having  seized  her  sister-in-law's  hands  in  order 
to  force  her  to  share  her  childish  joy. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  she  in  a  severe  tone,  "is  it 
the  custom  at  the  '  Sacred  Heart '  to  enter  a  room  with- 
out greeting  the  persons  who  are  in  it,  and  to  jump 
about  like  a  crazy  person?  a  thing  that  is  never  per- 
mitted even  hi  a  peasant's  house." 

Aline  stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  her  dance  and 
blushed  a  trifle;  she  caressed  the  pug  dog,  instead  of 
replying,  for  she  knew  as  well  as  Rousselet  that  it 
was  the  surest  way  of  softening  the  old  maid's  heart. 
The  cajolery  was  lost  this  time. 

"Do  not  touch  Constance,  I  beg  of  you,"  exclaimed 
the  aunt,  as  if  a  dagger  had  been  raised  against  the 
object  of  her  love,  "do  not  soil  this  poor  beast  with 
your  hands.  What  dreadful  thing  have  you  on  your 
fingers?  Have  you  just  come  out  of  an  indigo 
bag?" 

The  young  girl  blushed  still  deeper  and  gazed  at 
her  pretty  hands,  which  were  really  a  little  daubed, 
and  began  to  wipe  them  with  an  embroidered  hand- 
kerchief which  she  took  from  her  pocket. 

"It  was  the  billiards,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "it 
is  the  blue  chalk  they  rub  the  cue  with  in  order  to 
make  good  shots t and  caroms." 

"Make  good  shots!  Caroms!  Will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  spare  us  your  slang  speeches,"  continued  Ma- 
[44] 


GERFAUT 

demoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  who  seemed  to  become 
more  crabbed  as  the  young  girl's  confusion  increased. 
"What  a  fine  education  for  a  young  lady!  and  one 
who  has  just  come  from  the  'Sacred  Heart' !  One  that 
has  taken  five  prizes  not  fifteen  days  ago!  I  really  do 
not  know  what  to  think  of  those  ladies,  your  teachers! 
And  now  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  ride.  Billiards 
and  horses,  horses  and  billiards!  It  is  fine!  It  is  ad- 
mirable!" 

"But,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Aline,  raising  her  large 
blue  eyes,  which  were  on  the  verge  of  tears,  "it  is 
vacation  now,  and  there  is  no  wrong  in  my  playing  a 
game  of  billiards  with  my  brother;  we  have  no  bil- 
liards at  the  '  Sacred  Heart, '  and  it  is  such  fun !  It 
is  like  riding;  the  doctor  said  that  it  would  be  very 
healthful  for  me,  and  Christian  hoped  that  it  might 
make  me  grow  a  little." 

As  she  said  these  words,  the  young  girl  glanced  into 
the  mirror  in  order  to  see  whether  her  brother's  hopes 
had  been  realized;  for  her  small  stature  was  her  sole 
anxiety.  But  this  glance  was  as  quick  as  a  flash,  for 
she  feared  that  the  severe  old  maid  would  make  this 
act  of  coquetry  serve  as  the  text  for  another  sermon. 

"You  are  not  my  niece,  and  I  am  thankful  for  it," 
continued  the  old  lady.  "I  am  too  old  to  begin  an- 
other education;  thank  goodness,  one  is  quite  enough! 
I  have  no  authority  over  you,  and  your  conduct  is  your 
brother's  concern.  The  advice  which  I  give  you  is 
entirely  disinterested;  your  amusements  are  not  such 
as  seem  to  me  proper  for  a  young  girl  of  good  birth. 
It  may  be  possible  that  it  is  the  fashion  to-day,  so  I 
[45] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

will  say  no  more  about  it;  but  there  is  one  thing  more 
serious,  upon  which  I  should  advise  you  to  reflect. 
In  my  youth,  a  young  lady  never  was  allowed  to  write 
letters  except  to  her  father  and  mother.  Your  letters 
to  your  cousin  d'Artigues  are  inconsiderate — do  not 
interrupt  me — they  are  inconsiderate,  and  I  should 
advise  you  to  mend  your  ways." 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  arose,  and,  as  she  had 
found  an  opportunity  to  read  three  sermons  in  one 
forenoon,  she  could  not  say,  like  Titus,  "I  have 
wasted  my  morning."  She  left  the  room  with  a  ma- 
jestic step,  escorted  by  her  dog  and  satisfied  with  her- 
self, bestowing  an  ironical  curtsey  on  the  young  girl, 
which  the  latter  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  return. 

"How  hateful  your  aunt  is!"  exclaimed  Mademoi- 
selle de  Bergenheim  to  her  sister-in-law,  when  they 
were  alone.  "Christian  says  that  I  must  pay  no  at- 
tention to  her,  because  all  women  become  like  her 
if  they  never  marry.  As  for  myself,  I  know  very  well 
that  if  I  am  an  old  maid  I  shall  try  not  to  hurt  others' 
feelings — I,  inconsiderate!  When  she  can  think  of 
nothing  more  to  say,  she  scolds  me  about  my  cousin. 
It  is  hardly  worth  while,  for  what  we  write  about! 
Alphonse  wrote  of  nothing,  in  his  last  letter,  but  of 
the  partridge  he  had  shot  and  his  hunting  costume; 
he  is  such  a  boy!  But  why  do  you  not  say  something? 
You  sit  there  speechless;  are  you  angry  with  me,  too?" 

She  approached  Cle"mence  and  was  about  to  seat 
herself  in  her  lap,  when  the  latter  arose  to  avoid  this 
loving  familiarity. 

"So  you  really  have  beaten  Christian,"  said  she,  in 
[46] 


GERFAUT 

a  listless  tone;  "are  you  going  for  a  ride  now?  Your 
habit  is  very  becoming." 

"Truly?  oh!  I  am  so  glad!"  replied  the  young  girl, 
planting  herself  before  the  glass  to  look  at  her  pretty 
figure.  She  pulled  down  her  waist,  adjusted  the  folds 
of  the  skirt  of  her  dress  and  arranged  her  veil,  placed 
her  hat  on  her  head  with  a  little  more  jaunty  air, 
turned  three  quarters  around  to  get  a  better  view  of 
her  costume;  in  one  word,  she  went  through  the  co- 
quettish movements  that  all  pretty  women  learn  upon 
entering  society.  On  the  whole,  she  seemed  very  well 
pleased  with  her  examination,  for  she  smiled  and  showed 
a  row  of  small  teeth  which  were  as  white  as  milk. 

"I  am  sorry  now,"  said  she,  "that  I  did  not  send 
for  a  black  hat;  my  hair  is  so  light  that  gray  makes 
me  look  ugly.  Do  you  not  think  so?  Why  do  you 
not  reply,  Clemence  ?  One  can  not  get  a  word  out  of 
you  to-day;  is  it  because  you  have  your  neuralgia?" 

"I  have  a  trifle  of  it,"  said  Madame  de  Bergenheim, 
in  order  to  give  some  pretext  for  her  preoccupation. 

"Now,  then,  you  ought  to  come  with  us  for  a  ride; 
the  fresh  air  will  do  you  good.  Look  how  fine  the 
weather  is  now;  we  will  have  a  good  gallop.  Will  you  ? 
I  will  help  you  put  on  your  habit,  and  in  five  minutes 
you  will  be  ready.  Listen,  I  hear  them  in  the  yard 
now.  I  am  going  to  tell  Christian  to  have  your  horse 
saddled;  come." 

Aline  took  her  sister-in-law  by  the  hand,  led  her 

into  the  next  room  and  opened  the  window  to  see 

what  was  going  on  outside,  where   the  cracking  of 

whips  and  several  voices  were  to  be  heard.    A  ser- 

[47] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

vant  was  walking  up  and  down  the  yard  leading  a 
large  horse  which  he  had  just  brought  from  the  stable ; 
the  Baron  was  holding  a  smaller  one,  which  bore  a 
lady's  saddle,  while  he  carefully  examined  all  the 
buckles.  As  he  heard  the  window  open  above  his 
head,  he  turned  and  bowed  to  Clemence  with  much 
chivalrous  gallantry. 

"You  still  refuse  to  go  with  us?"  he  asked. 

"Is  Aline  going  to  ride  Titania,"  replied  Madame 
de  Bergenheim,  making  an  effort  to  speak;  "I  am 
sure  the  mare  will  end  by  playing  her  some  trick." 

The  young  girl,  who  had  a  fancy  for  Titania  because 
the  skittish  creature  had  the  attraction  of  forbidden 
fruit,  nudged  her  sister  with  her  elbow,  and  made  a 
little  grimace. 

"Aline  is  afraid  of  nothing,"  said  the  Baron;  "we 
will  enlist  her  with  the  hussars  as  soon  as  she  leaves 
the  'Sacred  Heart.'  Come,  Aline." 

The  young  girl  kissed  the  Baroness,  gathered  up 
her  skirt,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  in  the  yard  pat- 
ting the  neck  of  her  dear  brown  mare. 

"Up  with  you!"  said  Christian,  taking  his  sister's 
foot  in  one  hand  while  he  raised  her  with  the  other, 
placing  her  in  the  saddle  as  easily  as  he  would  a  six- 
year-old  child.  Then  he  mounted  his  large  horse, 
saluted  his  wife,  and  the  couple,  starting  at  a  trot, 
soon  disappeared  down  the  avenue,  which  began  at 
the  gate  of  the  courtyard. 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight,  Clemence  went  to 
her  room,  took  a  shawl  from  her  bed,  and  went  rapidly 
down  a  secret  stairway  which  led  into  the  gardens. 
[48] 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  GALLANT  IN  THE  GARDEN 


de  Bergenheim's  apartments 
occupied  the  first  floor  of  the  wing. 
on  the  left  side  of  the  house.  On 
the  ground  floor  were  the  library,  a 
bathroom,  and  several  guest-cham- 
bers. The  large  windows  had  a 
modern  look,  but  they  were  made  to 
harmonize  with  the  rest  of  the  house 
by  means  of  grayish  paint.  At  the  foot  of  this  facade 
was  a  lawn  surrounded  by  a  wall  and  orange-trees 
planted  in  tubs,  forming  a  sort  of  English  garden,  a 
sanctuary  reserved  for  the  mistress  of  the  castle,  and 
which  brought  her,  as  a  morning  tribute,  the  perfume 
of  its  flowers  and  the  coolness  of  its  shade. 

Through  the  tops  of  the  fir-trees  and  the  tulip- 
trees,  which  rose  above  the  group  of  smaller  shrubs, 
the  eye  could  follow  the  winding  river  until  it  finally 
disappeared  at  the  extremity  of  the  valley.  It  was 
this  picturesque  view  and  a  more  extensive  horizon 
which  had  induced  the  Baroness  to  choose  this  part 
of  the  Gothic  manor  for  her  own  private  apartments. 

After  crossing  the  lawn,  the  young  woman  opened 

a  gate  concealed  by  shrubs  and  entered  the  avenue  by 

the  banks  of  the  river.     This  avenue  described  a  curve 

around  the  garden,  and  led  to  the  principal  entrance 

4  [49] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

of  the  chateau.  Night  was  approaching,  the  country- 
side, which  had  been  momentarily  disturbed  by  the 
storm,  had  resumed  its  customary  serenity.  The 
leaves  of  the  trees,  as  often  happens  after  a  rain, 
looked  as  fresh  as  a  newly  varnished  picture.  The 
setting  sun  cast  long  shadows  through  the  trees,  and 
their  interlaced  branches  looked  like  a  forest  of  boa- 
constrictors. 

Clemence  advanced  slowly  under  this  leafy  dome, 
which  became  darker  and  more  mysterious  every 
moment,  with  head  bent  and  enveloped  in  a  large 
cashmere  shawl  which  fell  in  irregular  folds  to  the 
ground.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  one  of  those 
faces  which  other  women  would  call  not  at  all  re- 
markable, but  which  intelligent  men  ardently  ad- 
mire. At  the  first  glance  she  seemed  hardly  pretty; 
at  the  second,  she  attracted  involuntary  admiration; 
afterward,  it  was  difficult  to  keep  her  out  of  one's 
thoughts.  Her  features,  which  taken  separately  might 
seem  irregular,  were  singularly  harmonious,  and,  like 
a  thin  veil  which  tempers  a  too  dazzling  light,  softened 
the  whole  expression.  Her  light  chestnut  hair  was 
arranged  about  the  temples  in  ingenious  waves;  while 
her  still  darker  eyebrows  gave,  at  times,  an  imposing 
gravity  to  her  face.  The  same  contrast  was  to  be 
found  in  the  mouth;  the  short  distance  which  sep- 
arated it  from  the  nose  would  indicate,  according  to 
Lavater,  unusual  energy;  but  the  prominent  under- 
lip  impregnated  her  smile  with  enchanting  voluptu- 
ousness. Her  rather  clear-cut  features,  the  exceeding 
brilliancy  of  her  brown  eyes,  which  seemed  like  dia- 
[50] 


GERFAUT 

monds  set  in  jet,  would,  perhaps,  have  given  to  the 
whole  rather  too  strong  a  character  had  not  these 
eyes  when  veiled  given  to  their  dazzling  rays  a  glamour 
of  indescribable  softness. 

The  effect  produced  by  this  face  might  be  compared 
to  that  of  a  prism,  every  facet  of  which  reflects  a  dif- 
ferent color.  The  ardor  burning  under  this  change- 
able surface,  which,  through  some  sudden  cause,  be- 
trayed its  presence,  was  so  deeply  hidden,  however, 
that  it  seemed  impossible  to  fathom  it  completely. 
Was  she  a  coquette,  or  simply  a  fashionable  lady,  or 
a  devotee?  In  one  word,  was  she  imbued  with  the 
most  egotistical  pride  or  the  most  exalted  love?  One 
might  suppose  anything,  but  know  nothing;  one  re- 
mained undecided  and  thoughtful,  but  fascinated,  the 
mind  plunged  into  ecstatic  contemplation  such  as 
the  portrait  of  Monna  Lisa  inspires.  An  observer 
might  have  perceived  that  she  had  one  of  those  hearts, 
so  finely  strung,  from  which  a  clever  hand  might 
make  incomparable  harmonies  of  passion  gush;  but 
perhaps  he  would  be  mistaken.  So  many  women  have 
their  souls  only  in  their  eyes! 

Madame  de  Bergenheim's  revery  rendered  the  mys- 
terious and  impenetrable  veil  which  usually  enveloped 
her  countenance  more  unfathomable  yet.  What  sen- 
timent made  her  bend  her  head  and  walk  slowly  as 
she  meditated?  Was  it  the  ennui  of  which  she  had 
just  complained  to  her  aunt?  Was  it  pure  melan- 
choly? The  monotonous  ripple  of  the  stream,  the 
singing  of  the  birds  in  the  woods,  the  long  golden  re- 
flections under  the  trees,  all  seemed  to  unite  in  filling 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

the  soul  with  sadness;  but  neither  the  murmuring 
water,  the  singing  birds,  nor  the  sun's  splendor  was 
paid  any  attention  to  by  Madame  de  Bergenheim; 
she  gave  them  neither  a  glance  nor  a  sigh.  Her  medi- 
tation was  not  revery,  but  thought;  not  thoughts  of 
the  past,  but  of  the  present.  There  was  something 
precise  and  positive  in  the  rapid,  intelligent  glance 
which  flashed  from  her  eyes  when  she  raised  them; 
it  was  as  if  she  had  a  lucid  foresight  of  an  approaching 
drama. 

A  moment  after  she  had  passed  over  the  wooden 
bridge  which  led  from  the  avenue,  a  man  wearing  a 
blouse  crossed  it  and  followed  her.  Hearing  the 
sound  of  hurried  steps  behind  her,  she  turned  and 
saw,  not  two  steps  from  her,  the  stranger  who,  during 
the  storm,  had  vainly  tried  to  attract  her  attention. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  young  man 
stood  motionless,  trying  to  catch  his  breath,  which  had 
been  hurried,  either  by  emotion  or  rapid  walking. 
Madame  de  Bergenheim,  with  head  thrown  back  and 
widely  opened  eyes,  looked  at  him  with  a  more  agi- 
tated than  surprised  look. 

"It  is  you,"  exclaimed  he,  impulsively,  "you  whom 
I  had  lost  and  now  find  again!" 

"What  madness,  Monsieur!"  she  replied,  in  a  low 
voice,  putting  out  her  hand  as  if  to  stop  him. 

"I  beg  of  you,  do  not  look  at  me  so!  Let  me  gaze 
at  you  and  assure  myself  that  it  is  really  you — I  have 
dreamed  of  this  moment  for  so  long!  Have  I  not 
paid  dear  enough  for  it?  Two  months  passed  away 
from  you — from  heaven!  Two  months  of  sadness, 
[52] 


GERFAUT 

grief,  and  unhappiness!    But  you  are  pale!    Do  you 
suffer,  too?" 

"Much,  at  this  moment." 

"Clemence!" 

"Call  me  Madame,  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,"  she  in- 
terrupted, severely. 

"Why  should   I  disobey  you?    Are  you  not  my 
lady,  my  queen?" 

He  bent  his  knee  as  a  sign  of  bondage,  and  tried  to 
seize  her  hand,  which  she  immediately  withdrew. 
Madame  de  Bergenheim  seemed  to  pay  very  little 
attention  to  the  words  addressed  her;  her  uneasy 
glances  wandered  in  every  direction,  into  the  depths 
of  the  bushes  and  the  slightest  undulations  of  the 
ground.  Gerfaut  understood  this  pantomime.  He 
glanced,  in  his  turn,  over  the  place,  and  soon  discovered 
at  some  distance  a  more  propitious  place  for  such  a 
conversation  as  theirs.  It  was  a  semicircular  recess 
in  one  of  the  thickets  in  the  park.  A  rustic  seat  under 
a  large  oak  seemed  to  have  been  placed  there  ex- 
pressly for  those  who  came  to  seek  solitude  and  speak 
of  love.  From  there,  one  could  see  the  approach  of 
danger,  and,  in  case  of  alarm,  the  wood  offered  a 
secure  retreat.  The  young  man  had  had  enough  ex- 
perience in  gallant  strategies  to  seize  the  advantage 
of  this  position,  and  wended  his  steps  in  that  direc- 
tion while  continuing  to  converse.  It  may  be  that 
instinct  which,  in  a  critical  situation,  makes  us  follow 
mechanically  an  unknown  impulse;  it  may  be  that 
the  same  idea  of  prudence  had  also  struck  her,  for 
Madame  de  Bergenheim  walked  beside  him. 
[533 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"If  you  could  understand  what  I  suffered,"  said  he, 
"when  I  found  that  you  had  left  Paris!  I  could  not 
discover  at  first  where  you  had  gone;  some  spoke  of 
Corandeuil,  others  of  Italy.  I  thought,  from  this 
hasty  departure  and  the  care  you  took  to  conceal  your 
abiding-place,  that  you  were  fleeing  from  me.  Oh! 
tell  me  that  I  was  mistaken;  or,  if  it  is  true  that  you 
wished  to  separate  yourself  from  me,  say  that  this 
cruel  resolve  had  left  your  mind,  and  that  you  will 
pardon  me  for  following  you!  You  will  pardon  me, 
will  you  not?  If  I  trouble  or  annoy  you,  lay  the 
blame  entirely  upon  my  love,  which  I  can  not  restrain, 
and  which  drives  me  at  times  to  do  the  most  extrava- 
gant things;  call  it  reckless,  insane  love,  if  you  will; 
but  believe  it  to  be  true  and  devoted!" 

Ctemence  replied  to  this  passionate  tirade  by  simply 
shaking  her  head  as  a  child  does  who  hears  the  buz- 
zing of  a  wasp  and  fears  its  sting;  then,  as  they 
reached  the  bench,  she  said  with  affected  surprise: 

"You  have  made  a  mistake,  this  is  not  your  road; 
you  should  have  gone  over  the  bridge." 

There  was  a  little  palpable  insincerity  in  these 
words;  for  if  the  road  which  they  had  taken  did  not 
lead  to  the  bridge,  neither  did  it  lead  to  the  chateau, 
and  the  mistake,  if  there  was  one,  was  mutual. 

"Listen  to  me,  I  beg  of  you,"  replied  tne  lover, 
with  a  supplicating  glance,  "I  have  so  many  things 
to  say  to  you!  I  beg  of  you,  grant  me  one  moment. " 

"Afterward,  will  you  obey  me?" 

"  Only  a  few  words,  and  I  will  then  do  all  that  you 
wish." 

[54] 


GERFAUT 

She  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  her  conscience  doubt- 
less lulled  by  this  promise,  she  seated  herself  and  made 
a  gesture  for  M.  de  Gerfaut  to  do  likewise.  The  young 
man  did  not  make  her  repeat  this  invitation,  but  hypo- 
critically seated  himself  on  the  farther  end  of  the  seat. 

"Now,  talk  reasonably,"  she  said,  in  a  calm  tone. 
"I  suppose  that  you  are  on  your  way  to  Germany  or 
Switzerland,  and  as  you  passed  near  me  you  wished 
to  favor  me  with  a  call.  I  ought  to  be  proud  of  this 
mark  of  respect  from  a  man  so  celebrated  as  you  are, 
although  you  are  rather  hiding  your  light  under  this 
garb.  We  are  not  very  strict  as  to  dress  in  the  coun- 
try, but,  really,  yours  is  quite  unceremonious.  Tell 
me,  where  did  you  find  that  head-dress?" 

These  last  words  were  spoken  with  the  careless, 
mocking  gayety  of  a  young  girl. 

Gerfaut  smiled,  but  he  took  off  his  cap.  Knowing 
the  importance  that  women  attach  to  little  things,  and 
what  an  irreparable  impression  an  ugly  cravat  or  un- 
blacked  boots  might  produce  in  the  most  affecting 
moments,  he  did  not  wish  to  compromise  himself  by 
a  ridiculous  head-gear.  He  passed  his  hand  through 
his  hair,  pushing  it  back  from  his  large,  broad  fore- 
head, and  said  softly: 

"You  know  very  well  that  I  am  not  going  to  Ger- 
many or  Switzerland,  and  that  Bergenheim  is  the  end 
of  my  journey,  as  it  has  been  its  aim." 

"Then  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  what  your 
intention  was  in  taking  such  a  step,  and  whether  you 
have  realized  how  strange,  inconsiderate,  and  in  every 
way  extravagant  your  conduct  is?" 
[55] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  have  realized  it;  I  know  it.  You  were  here,  I 
came  because  there  is  a  loadstone  within  you,  that 
is  my  heart's  sole  attraction,  and  I  must  follow  my 
heart.  I  came  because  I  wanted  to  see  your  beauti- 
ful eyes  again,  to  be  intoxicated  by  your  sweet  voice, 
because  to  live  away  from  you  is  impossible  for  me; 
because  your  presence  is  as  necessary  to  my  happi- 
ness as  air  to  my  life;  because  I  love  you.  That  is 
why  I  came.  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  under- 
stand me,  that  you  will  not  pardon  me?" 

"I  do  not  wish  to  believe  that  you  are  speaking 
seriously,"  said  Clemence,  with  increased  severity. 
"What  sort  of  an  idea  can  you  have  of  me,  if  you 
think  I  will  allow  such  conduct?  And  then,  even  if  I 
were  foolish  enough  for  that — which  I  never  shall  be 
— to  what  would  it  lead?  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  come  to  the  castle,  as 
you  are  not  acquainted  with  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim, 
and  I  certainly  shall  not  introduce  you  to  him.  My 
aunt  is  here,  and  she  would  persecute  me  the  whole 
day  long  with  questions!  Mon  Dieu!  how  you  dis- 
turb me!  how  unhappy  you  make  me!" 

"Your  aunt  never  goes  out,  so  she  will  not  see  me, 
unless  I  am  officially  received  at  the  chateau,  and 
then  there  could  be  no  danger." 

"But  the  servants  she  brought  with  her,  and  mine, 
who  have  seen  you  in  her  house !  I  tell  you,  the  whole 
thing  is  as  perilous  as  it  is  crazy,  and  you  will  make 
me  die  of  fright  and  chagrin. " 

"If  one  of  those  servants  should  chance  to  meet  me, 
how  could  he  ever  recognize  me  in  this  costume? 
[56] 


GERFAUT 

Do  not  fear,  I  shall  be  prudent!  I  would  live  in  a 
log  cabin,  if  necessary,  for  the  joy  of  seeing  you  oc- 
casionally. " 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  smiled  disdainfully. 

"That  would  be  quite  pastoral,"  she  replied;  "but 
I  believe  that  such  disguises  are  seldom  seen  now 
except  upon  the  stage.  If  this  is  a  scene  out  of  a  play, 
which  you  wish  to  rehearse  in  order  to  judge  its  effect, 
I  warn  you  that  it  is  entirely  lost  upon  me,  and  that 
I  consider  the  play  itself  very  ill-timed,  improper,  and 
ridiculous.  Besides,  for  a  man  of  talent  and  a  ro- 
mantic poet  you  have  not  exhibited  any  very  great 
imagination.  It  is  a  classical  imitation,  nothing  bet- 
ter. There  is  something  like  it  in  mythology,  I  be- 
lieve. Did  not  Apollo  disguise  himself  as  a  shepherd  ?  " 

Nothing  more  is  to  be  feared  by  a  lover  than  a 
witty  woman  who  does  not  love  or  loves  but  half; 
he  is  obliged  to  wear  velvet  gloves  in  all  such  senti 
mental  controversies;  he  owes  it  to  himself  out  of 
propriety  first,  out  of  prudence  afterward.  For  it  is 
not  a  question  of  taking  part  in  a  conversation  for 
the  simple  pleasure  of  brilliant  repartee;  and  while  he 
applies  himself  carefully  to  play  his  part  well,  he  feels 
that  he  has  been  dexterously  cut  to  pieces  with  a  well- 
sharpened  knife. 

Gerfaut  indulged  in  these  unpleasant  reflections 
while  gazing  at  Madame  de  Bergenheim.  Seated  up- 
on the  bench  as  proudly  as  a  queen  upon  her  throne, 
with  shining  eyes,  scornful  lips,  and  arms  tightly  folded 
under  her  cashmere  shawl,  with  that  haughty  gesture 
familiar  to  her,  the  young  woman  looked  as  invulner- 
[57] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

able  under  this  light  wrap  as  if  she  had  been  covered 
with  Ajax's  shield,  formed,  if  we  can  credit  Homer,  of 
seven  bulls'  hides  and  a  sheet  of  brass. 

After  gazing  at  this  scornful  face  for  a  moment, 
Gerfaut  glanced  at  his  coarse  blouse,  his  leggings, 
and  muddy  boots.  His  usual  dainty  ways  made  the 
details  of  this  costume  yet  more  shocking  to  him,  and 
he  exaggerated  this  little  disaster.  He  felt  degraded 
and  almost  ridiculous.  The  thought  took  away  for 
a  moment  his  presence  of  mind;  he  began  mechani- 
cally to  twirl  his  hat  in  his  hands,  exactly  as  if  he  had 
been  Pere  Rousselet  himself.  But  instead  of  being 
hurtful  to  him,  this  awkwardness  served  him  better 
than  the  eloquence  of  Rousseau  or  the  coolness  of 
Richelieu.  Was  it  not  a  genuine  triumph  for  Clemence 
to  reduce  a  man  of  his  recognized  talent,  who  was 
usually  anything  but  timid,  to  this  state  of  embarrass- 
ment? What  witty  response,  what  passionate  speech 
could  equal  the  flattery  of  this  poet  with  bent  head 
and  this  expression  of  deep  sadness  upon  his  face? 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  continued  her  raillery,  but 
in  a  softer  tone. 

"This  time,  instead  of  staying  in  a  cabin,  the  god  of 
poetry  has  descended  to  a  tavern.  Have  you  not  es- 
tablished your  general  headquarters  at  La  Faucon- 
nerie?" 

"How  did  you  know  that?" 

"By  the  singular  visiting-card  that  you  drew  in  La 
Mode.  Do  I  not  know  your  coat-of-arms  ?  An  ex- 
pressive one,  as  my  aunt  would  say. " 

At  these  words,  which  probably  referred  to  some 
[58] 


GERFAUT 

letters,  doubtless  read  without  very  much  anger,  since 
they  were  thus  recalled,  Gerfaut  took  courage. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  am  staying  at  La  Fauconnerie; 
but  I  can  not  stay  there  any  longer,  for  I  think  your 
servants  make  the  tavern  their  pleasure-ground.  I 
must  come  to  some  decision.  I  have  two  propositions 
to  submit  to  you:  the  first  is,  that  you  will  allow  me 
to  see  you  occasionally;  there  are  numerous  prome- 
nades about  here;  you  go  out  alone,  so  it  would  be 
very  easy." 

"Let  us  hear  the  second,"  said  Cle"mence,  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"If  you  will  not  grant  my  first,  I  beg  of  you  to  per- 
suade your  aunt  that  she  is  ill  and  to  take  her  with 
you  to  Plombieres  or  Baden.  The  season  is  not  very 
far  advanced;  there,  at  least,  I  should  be  able  to  see 
you." 

"Let  us  end  this  folly,"  said  the  Baroness;  "I  have 
listened  patiently  to  you;  now,  in  your  turn,  listen  to 
me.  You  will  be  sensible,  will  you  not?  You  will 
leave  me  and  go.  You  will  go  to  Switzerland,  and 
return  to  the  Montanvert,  where  you  met  me  for  the 
first  time,  which  I  shall  always  remember,  if  you, 
yourself,  do  not  make  it  painful  for  me  to  do  so.  You 
will  obey  me,  Octave,  will  you  not?  Give  me  this 
proof  of  your  esteem  and  friendship.  You  know  very 
well  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  grant  what  you 
ask;  believe  me,  it  is  painful  to  me  to  be  forced  to 
refuse  you.  So,  say  farewell  to  me;  you  shall  see 
me  again  next  winter  in  Paris.  Adieu!" 

She  arose  and  extended  her  hand;  he  took  it,  but, 
[59] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

thinking  to  profit  by  the  emotion  betrayed  by  Madame 
de  Bergenheim's  voice,  he  exclaimed  in  a  sort  of  trans- 
port: 

"No!  I  will  not  wait  until  next  winter  to  see  you. 
I  was  about  to  submit  to  your  will ;  if  you  repulse  me 
I  will  consult  only  myself;  if  you  repulse  me,  Cle- 
mence,  I  warn  you  that  to-morrow  I  shall  be  in  your 
house,  seated  at  your  table  and  admitted  to  your  draw- 
ing-room." 

"You?" 

"I!" 

"To-morrow?" 

"To-morrow." 

"And  how  will  you  do  it,  pray?"  said  she,  defiantly. 

"That  is  my  secret,  Madame,"  he  replied,  coldly. 

Although  her  curiosity  was  greatly  aroused,  Cle*- 
mence  felt  that  it  would  be  beneath  her  to  ask  any  more 
questions.  She  replied  with  an  affectation  of  mock 
ing  indifference : 

"Since  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  to- 
morrow, I  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  leave  you  to- 
day. You  know  that  I  am  not  well,  and  it  is  showing 
me  very  little  attention  to  allow  me  to  stand  here  in 
this  wet  grass." 

She  raised  her  skirt  a  trifle  and  extended  her  foot, 
showing  her  slipper,  which  was  really  covered  with 
pearly  drops  of  rain.  Octave  threw  himself  quickly 
upon  his  knees,  and,  taking  a  silk  handkerchief  from 
his  pocket,  began  to  wipe  away  all  traces  of  the  storm. 
His  action  was  so  rapid  that  Madame  de  Bergenheim 
stood  for  a  moment  motionless  and  speechless,  but 
[60] 


GERFAUT 

when  she  felt  her  foot  imprisoned  in  the  hand  of  the 
man  who  had  just  declared  war  against  her,  her  sur- 
prise gave  place  to  a  mingled  feeling  of  impatience  and 
anger.  She  drew  her  foot  back  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment, but  unfortunately  the  foot  went  one  way  and 
the  slipper  another.  A  fencing-master,  who  sees  his 
foil  carried  ten  steps  away  from  him  by  a  back  stroke, 
could  not  feel  more  astonishment  than  that  felt  by 
Madame  de  Bergenheim.  Her  first  movement  was  to 
place  her  foot,  so  singularly  undressed,  upon  the 
ground;  an  instinctive  horror  of  the  damp,  muddy 
walk  made  her  draw  it  quickly  back.  She  stood  thus 
with  one  foot  lifted;  the  movement  which  she  had 
started  to  make  threw  her  off  her  balance  and  as  she 
was  about  to  fall  she  extended  her  hand  to  find  some 
support.  This  support  proved  to  be  Octave's  head, 
for  he  still  remained  upon  his  knees.  With  the  usual 
presumption  of  lovers,  he  believed  that  he  had  the 
right  to  give  herv  the  assistance  which  she  seemed  to 
ask  for,  and  passed  his  arm  about  the  slender  waist 
which  was  bent  toward  him. 

Clemence  drew  herself  up  at  once,  and  with  frown- 
ing brow  regained  her  coolness,  standing  upright  up- 
on one  foot,  like  Cupid  in  the  painting  by  Gerard; 
like  him,  also,  she  seemed  about  to  fly  away,  there  was 
so  much  airy  lightness  in  her  improvised  attitude. 

Many  puerile  incidents  and  ridiculous  events  occur 
in  life,  which  it  would  render  impossible  for  the  most 
imperturbable  of  mandarins  to  struggle  against  in  or- 
der to  preserve  his  gravity.  When  Louis  XIV,  this 
king  so  expert  in  courtly  ways,  dressed  his  hair  alone 
[61] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

behind  his  curtains  before  presenting  himself  to  the 
eyes  of  his  courtiers,  he  feared  that  this  disarray  of 
costume  might  compromise  even  his  royal  majesty. 
So,  upon  such  authority,  if  one  looks  upon  a  com- 
plete head  of  hair  as  indispensable  to  the  dignity  of 
manhood,  the  same  reasoning  should  exist  for  the 
covering  of  one's  feet. 

In  less  than  a  second,  Madame  de  Bergenheim  com- 
prehended that  in  such  circumstances  prudish  airs 
would  fail  of  their  effect.  Meanwhile,  the  agreeable 
side  of  her  position  operated  within  her;  she  felt  un- 
able to  keep  up  the  show  of  anger  that  she  had  wished 
to  assume.  The  involuntary  smile  upon  her  lips 
smoothed  her  forehead  as  a  ray  of  sun  dissipates  a 
cloud.  Thus,  disposed  to  clemency  by  reflection  or 
fascination,  it  was  in  a  very  sweet  and  coaxing  voice 
that  she  said: 

"Octave,  give  me  my  slipper." 

Gerfaut  gazed  at  the  lovely  face  bent  toward  him 
with  an  expression  of  childish  entreaty,  then  he  glanced 
with  an  irresolute  air  at  the  trophy  which  he  held  in 
his  hand.  This  slipper,  which  was  as  small  as  Cin- 
derella's, was  not  green,  but  gray,  the  lining  was  of 
rose-colored  silk,  and  the  whole  was  so  pretty,  co- 
quettish, and  dainty  that  it  seemed  impossible  its 
owner  could  be  vexed  with  him  if  he  examined  it 
closely. 

"I  will  give  it  back  to  you,"  said  he,  at  last,  "on 
condition  that  you  will  allow  me  to  put  it  on  for 
you." 

"As  to  that,  certainly  not,"  said  she,  in  a  sharp 
[62] 


GERFAUT 

tone;  "I  should  much  prefer  to  leave  it  with  you  and 
return  home  as  I  am." 

Gerfaut  shook  his  head  and  smiled  incredulously. 

"Think  of  your  delicate  lungs  and  of  this  terrible 
mud?" 

Clemence  drew  her  foot  suddenly  back  under  her 
skirt,  concealing  it  entirely  from  the  sight  of  the  young 
man,  who  gazed  at  it  more  than  she  thought  pro- 
per. Then  she  exclaimed,  with  the  obstinacy  of  a 
spoiled  child: 

"Very  well!  I  will  return  hopping  on  one  foot;  I 
could  hop  very  well  when  I  was  young,  I  should  be 
able  to  do  so  now." 

To  give  more  weight  to  this  observation,  she  took 
two  little  jumps  with  a  grace  and  sprightliness  worthy 
of  Mademoiselle  Taglioni. 

Octave  arose. 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  waltz,"  said 
he;  "but  I  admit  that  I  shall  be  pleased  to  witness 
a  new  dance,  and  one  executed  for  me  alone." 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  pretended  to  conceal  the 
innocent  object  of  this  dispute  in  his  blouse.  The 
pretty  dancer  saw  by  this  that  a  compromise  would 
be  necessary.  Recourse  to  concessions  is  often  as 
fatal  to  women  as  to  kings;  but  what  can  one  do  when 
every  other  exit  is  closed?  Obliged  by  absolute  ne- 
cessity to  accept  the  conditions  imposed  upon  her, 
Clemence  wished  at  least  to  cover  this  defeat  with 
sufficient  dignity,  and  escape  from  an  awkward  posi- 
tion with  the  honors  of  war. 

"Get  down  upon  your  knees,  then,"  she  said, 
[63] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

haughtily,  "and  put  on  my  slipper,  since  you  exact  it, 
and  let  this  end  this  ridiculous  scene.  I  think  you 
should  be  too  proud  to  regard  a  maid's  privilege  as  a 
favor." 

"As  a  favor  which  a  king  would  envy,"  replied 
Gerfaut,  in  a  voice  as  tender  as  hers  had  been  dis- 
dainful. He  put  one  knee  on  the  ground,  placed  the 
little  slipper  upon  the  other  and  seemed  to  await  his 
enemy's  pleasure.  But  the  latter  found  a  new  sub- 
ject for  complaint  in  the  pedestal  offered  her,  for  she 
said  with  increased  severity: 

"On  the  ground,  Monsieur;   and  let  that  end  it." 

He  obeyed,  without  a  reply,  after  giving  her  a  re- 
proachful glance  by  which  she  was  as  much  moved  as 
by  his  silent  obedience.  She  put  out  her  foot  with 
a  more  gracious  air,  and  thrust  it  into  the  slipper. 
To  be  a  correct  historian,  we  must  admit  that  this 
time  she  left  it  in  the  hands  which  softly  pressed  it 
longer  than  was  strictly  necessary.  When  Octave  had 
fastened  it  with  skill  but  with  no  haste,  he  bent  his 
head  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  openwork  stocking, 
through  which  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  white, 
satiny  skin. 

"My  husband!"  exclaimed  Madame  de  Bergenheim, 
as  she  heard  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  at  the  end  of 
the  avenue;  and  without  adding  a  word  she  fled 
rapidly  toward  the  chateau.  Gerfaut  arose  from  his 
position  no  less  rapidly  and  darted  into  the  woods. 
A  rustling  of  branches  which  he  heard  a  few  steps 
from  him  made  him  uneasy  at  first,  for  he  feared  that 
an  invisible  witness  had  been  present  at  this  impru- 
[64] 


GERFAUT 

dent  interview;    but  he  was  soon  reassured  by  the 
silence  which  reigned  about  him. 

After  the  Baron  and  his  sister  had  passed,  he  crossed 
the  avenue  and  soon  disappeared  over  the  winding 
road  on  the  other  side  of  the  bridge. 


[65] 


CHAPTER  V 

ART  AND  MUSIC 

LEAGUE  below  the  castle  of  Bergen- 
heim,  the  village  of  La  Fauconnerie 
was  situated,  at  the  junction  of  sev- 
eral valleys  the  principal  of  which, 
by  means  of  an  unfrequented  road, 
opened  communications  between  Lor- 
raine and  upper  Alsatia.  This  posi- 
tion had  been  one  of  some  impor- 
tance in  the  Middle  Ages,  at  the  time  when  the  Vosges 
were  beset  with  partisans  from  the  two  countries,  al- 
ways ready  to  renew  border  hostilities,  the  everlasting 
plague  of  all  frontiers.  Upon  a  cliff  overlooking  the 
village  were  situated  the  ruins  which  had  given  the 
village  its  name ;  it  owed  it  to  the  birds  of  prey  [falcons, 
in  French:  faitcons],  the  habitual  guests  of  the  per- 
pendicular rocks.  To  render  proper  justice  to  whom 
it  belongs,  we  should  add  that  the  proprietors  of  La 
Fauconnerie  had  made  it  a  point  at  all  times  to  justify 
this  appellation  by  customs  more  warlike  than  hos- 
pitable ;  but  for  some  time  the  souvenirs  of  their  feudal 
prowess  had  slept  with  their  race  under  the  ruins  of 
the  manor;  the  chateau  had  fallen  without  the  ham- 
let extending  over  its  ruins;  from  a  bourg  of  some 
importance  La  Fauconnerie  had  come  down  to  a  small 
[66] 


GERFAUT 

village,  and  had  nothing  remarkable  about  it  but  the 
melancholy  ruins  of  the  chateau. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  imagine  anything  more 
miserably  prosaic  than  the  houses  that  bordered  the 
road,  in  regular  order;  their  one  story  with  its  thatched 
roof  blackened  by  rain;  the  sorry  garden  surrounded 
by  a  little  low  wall  and  presenting  as  vegetables 
patches  of  cabbage  and  a  few  rows  of  beans,  gave 
an  idea  of  the  poverty  of  its  inhabitants.  Save  the 
church,  which  the  Bishop,  of  St.-Die  had  caused  to  be 
built,  and  the  manse  that  had  naturally  shared  this 
fortunate  privilege,  only  one  house  rose  above  the 
condition  of  a  thatched  cottage;  this  was  the  tavern 
called  La  Femme-sans-Tete,  and  kept  by  Madame 
Gobillot,  an  energetic  woman,  who  did  not  suggest 
in  the  least  the  name  of  her  establishment,  "The 
Headless  Woman." 

A  large  sign  shared,  with  the  inevitable  bunch  of 
juniper,  the  honor  of  decorating  the  entrance  and  jus- 
tified an  appellation  one  might  have  regarded  as  dis- 
respectful to  the  fair  sex.  The  original  design  had 
been  repainted  in  dazzling  colors  by  the  artist  charged 
with  restoring  the  church.  This  alliance  of  the  pro- 
fane with  the  sacred  had,  it  is  true,  scandalized  the 
parish  priest,  but  he  did  not  dare  say  a  word  too  much, 
as  Madame  Gobillot  was  one  of  his  most  important 
parishioners.  A  woman  in  a  rose-colored  dress  and 
large  panniers,  standing  upon  very  high-heeled  shoes, 
displayed  upon  this  sign  the  rejuvenated  costume  of 
1750;  an  enormous  green  fan,  which  she  held  in  her 
hand,  entirely  concealed  her  face,  and  it  was  through 
[67] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

this  caprice  of  the  painter  that  the  tavern  came  to 
have  the  name  it  bore. 

At  the  right  of  this  original  figure  was  painted,  in 
a  very  appetizing  manner,  a  pie  out  of  whose  crust 
peeped  a  trio  of  woodcocks'  heads.  A  little  farther, 
upon  a  bed  of  water-cresses,  floated  a  sort  of  marine 
monster,  carp  or  sturgeon,  trout  or  crocodile.  The 
left  of  the  sign  was  none  the  less  tempting;  it  repre- 
sented a  roast  chicken  lying  upon  its  back  with  its 
head  under  its  wing,  and  raising  its  mutilated  legs  in 
the  air  with  a  piteous  look;  it  had  for  its  companion 
a  cluster  of  crabs,  of  a  little  too  fine  a  red  to  have  been 
freshly  caught.  The  whole  was  interspersed  with  bot- 
tles and  glasses  brimful  of  wine.  There  were  stone 
jugs  at  each  extremity,  the  sergeants  of  the  rear-rank 
of  this  gastronomic  platoon,  whose  corks  had  blown 
out  and  were  still  flying  in  space,  while  a  bubbling 
white  foam  issued  from  their  necks  and  fell  majes- 
tically over  their  sides  after  describing  a  long  parabola. 
A  misleading  sign,  indeed! 

A  remorseful  conscience,  or  a  desire  to  protect  her- 
self from  all  reproach  of  mendacity  on  the  part  of  the 
customers,  had  made  the  owner  of  the  inn  place  a 
wire  cupboard  upon  the  sill  of  one  of  the  windows 
near  the  door;  in  which  receptacle  were  some  eggs 
on  a  plate,  a  bit  of  bread  with  which  David  might 
have  loaded  his  sling,  a  white  glass  bottle  filled  with 
a  liquid  of  some  color  intended  to  represent  kirsch, 
but  which  was  in  reality  only  water.  This  array  gave 
a  much  more  correct  idea  of  the  resources  of  the  estab- 
lishment and  formed  a  menu  like  an  anchorite's  repast, 
[68] 


GERFAUT 

and  even  this  it  was  difficult  for  the  kitchen's  resources 
to  maintain. 

A  carriage-gate  led  into  the  yard  and  to  the  stables, 
cart-drivers  being  the  principal  habitues  of  the  place; 
another  entrance,  the  one  which  was  crowned  with 
the  fantastic  sign,  was  flanked  by  two  stone  seats  and 
opened  directly  into  the  kitchen,  which  also  served  as 
parlor  for  the  guests.  A  fireplace  with  an  enormous 
mantel,  under  which  a  whole  family  might  warm 
themselves,  occupied  the  middle  of  one  side  of  the 
room.  There  was  a  large  oven  in  one  corner  which 
opened  its  huge  mouth,  the  door  partly  hiding  the 
shovels  and  tongs  employed  in  its  service.  Two  or 
three  thoroughly  smoked  hams,  suspended  from  the 
beams,  announced  that  there  was  no  fear  of  a  famine 
before  the  gastronomic  massacres  of  Middlemas.  Op- 
posite the  window,  a  large,  polished  oak  dresser  dis- 
played an  array  of  large  flowered  plates  and  little 
octagon-shaped  glasses.  A  huge  kitchen  kettle  and 
some  wooden  chairs  completed  the  furniture  of  the 
room. 

From  the  kitchen  one  passed  into  another  room, 
where  a  permanent  table  surrounded  by  benches  oc- 
cupied its  entire  length.  The  wall  paper,  once  green, 
was  now  a  dirty  gray;  it  was  embellished  by  half  a 
dozen  black  frames  representing  the  story  of  Prince 
Poniatowski,  who  shares  the  honor  of  decorating  vil- 
lage inns  with  Paul  and  Virginia  and  Wilhelm  Tell. 
On  the  upper  floor — for  this  aristocratic  dwelling  had 
a  second  story — several  sleeping-rooms  opened  upon  a 
long  corridor,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  room  with 
[69] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

two  beds  in  it.  This  room  was  very  neat  and  clean, 
and  was  destined  for  any  distinguished  guests  whose 
unlucky  star  led  them  into  this  deserted  country. 

That  evening  the  inn  presented  an  unaccustomed 
lively  appearance;  the  long  seats,  each  side  of  the 
door,,  were  occupied  by  rustics  stripping  hemp,  by 
some  village  lads,  and  three  or  four  cart-drivers  smok- 
ing short  pipes  as  black  as  coal.  They  were  listening 
to  two  girls  who  were  singing  in  a  most  mournful 
way  a  song  well  known  to  all  in  this  country: 

"Au  chateau  de  Belfort 
Sont  trois  jolies  filles,  etc." 

The  light  from  the  hearth,  shining  through  the  open 
door,  left  this  group  in  the  shadow  and  concentrated 
its  rays  upon  a  few  faces  in  the  interior  of  the  kitchen. 
First,  there  was  Madame  Gobillot  in  person,  wearing 
a  long  white  apron,  her  head  covered  with  an  immense 
cap.  She  went  from  oven  to  dresser,  and  from  dress- 
er to  fireplace  with  a  very  important  air.  A  fat  little 
servant  disappeared  frequently  through  the  dining- 
room  door,  where  she  seemed  to  be  laying  the  cover 
for  a  feast.  With  that  particular  dexterity  of  country 
girls,  she  made  three  trips  to  carry  two  plates,  and 
puffed  like  a  porpoise  at  her  work,  while  the  look  of 
frightened  amazement  showed  upon  her  face  that 
every  fibre  of  her  intelligence  was  under  unaccustomed 
tension.  Before  the  fire,  and  upon  the  range,  three 
or  four  stewpans  were  bubbling.  A  plump  chicken 
was  turning  on  the  spit,  or,  rather,  the  spit  and  its 
victim  were  turned  by  a  bright-looking  boy  of  about  a 


GERFAUT 

dozen  years,  who  with  one  hand  turned  the  handle 
and  with  the  other,  armed  with  a  large  cooking-ladle, 
basted  the  roast. 

But  the  two  principal  persons  in  this  picture  were 
a  young  country  girl  and  a  young  man  seated  op- 
posite her,  who  seemed  busily  engaged  in  making  her 
portrait.  One  would  easily  recognize,  from  the  airs 
and  elegance  of  the  young  woman,  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  Mademoiselle  Reine  Gobillot, 
the  one  whose  passion  for  fashion-plates  had  excit- 
ed Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil's  anger.  She  sat  as 
straight  and  rigid  upon  her  stool  as  a  Prussian  cor- 
poral carrying  arms,  and  maintained  an  excessively 
gracious  smile  upon  her  lips,  while  she  made  her  bust 
more  prominent  by  drawing  back  her  shoulders  as  far 
as  she  could. 

The  young  painter,  on  the  contrary,  was  seated  with 
artistic  abandon,  balancing  himself  upon  a  two-legged 
chair  with  his  heels  resting  against  the  mantel;  he 
was  dressed  in  a  black  velvet  coat,  and  a  very  small 
Tarn  O'Shanter  cap  of  the  same  material  covered  the 
right  side  of  his  head,  allowing  a  luxuriant  crop  of 
brown  hair  to  be  seen  upon  the  other  side.  This 
head-dress,  accompanied  by  long  moustaches  and  a 
pointed  beard  covering  only  his  chin,  gave  the  stran- 
ger's face  the  mediaeval  look  he  probably  desired.  This 
travelling  artist  was  sketching  in  an  album  placed  upon 
his  knees,  with  a  freedom  which  indicated  perfect 
confidence  in  his  own  talents.  A  cigar,  skilfully  held 
in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  did  not  prevent  him  from 
warbling  between  each  puff  some  snatches  of  Italian 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

airs  of  which  he  seemed  to  possess  a  complete  reper- 
toire. In  spite  of  this  triple  occupation  he  sustained 
a  conversation  with  the  ease  of  a  man  who,  like  Csesar, 
could  have  dictated  to  three  secretaries  at  once  if  nec- 
essary. 

"Dell'  Assiria,  ai  semidei 
Aspirar " 

"I  have  already  asked  you  not  to  purse  up  your 
mouth  so,  Mademoiselle  Reine;  it  gives  you  a  Wat- 
teau  air  radically  bourgeois." 

"What  sort  of  air  does  it  give  me?"  she  asked, 
anxiously. 

"A  Watteau,  Regence,  Pompadour  air,  You  have 
a  large  mouth,  and  we  will  leave  it  natural,  if  you 
please." 

"I  have  a  large  mouth  I"  exclaimed  Reine,  blush- 
ing with  anger;  "how  polite  you  arel" 

And  she  pinched  up  her  lips  until  she  reduced 
them  to  nearly  the  size  of  Montmorency  cherries. 

"Stop  this  vulgar  way  of  judging  of  art,  queen  of  my 
heart.  Learn  that  there  is  nothing  more  appetizing 
than  a  large  mouth.  I  do  not  care  for  rosebud 
mouths!" 

"If  it  is  the  fashion!"  murmured  the  young  girl,  in 
a  pleased  tone,  as  she  spread  out  horizontally  her 
vermillion  lips,  which  might  have  extended  from  ear 
to  ear,  not  unlike — if  we  can  credit  that  slanderer, 
Bussy-Rabutin — the  amorous  smile  of  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliere. 

"Why  did  you  not  let  me  put  on  my  gold  necklace? 
[72] 


GERFAUT 

That  would  have  given  my  portrait  a  smarter  look. 
Sophie  Mitoux  had  hers  painted  with  a  coral  comb 
and  earrings.  How  shabby  this  style  is!" 

"I  beg  of  you,  my  good  Reine,  let  me  follow  my 
own  fancy;  an  artist  is  a  being  of  inspiration  and 
spontaneity.  Meanwhile,  you  make  your  bust  too 
prominent;  there  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  look  as  if 
you  had  swallowed  a  whale.  Uart  n'est  pas  fait  pour 
toi,  tu  rfen  as  pas  besoin.  ifpon  my  word,  you  have 
a  most  astonishing  bust;  a  genuine  Rubens." 

Madame  Gobillot  was  an  austere  woman,  though 
an  innkeeper,  and  watched  over  her  daughter  with 
particular  care,  lest  any  ill-sounding  or  insiduous  ex- 
pression should  reach  her  child's  ear.  Considering  the 
company  which  frequented  the  house,  the  task  was 
not  easy.  So  she  was  shocked  at  the  young  man's 
last  words,  and  although  she  did  not  quite  understand 
his  meaning,  for  that  very  reason  she  thought  she 
scented  a  concealed  poison  more  dangerous  for  Made- 
moiselle Reine  than  the  awful  words  used  by  the 
drivers.  She  dared  not,  however,  show  her  displeas- 
ure to  a  customer,  and  one  who  seemed  disposed  to 
spend  money  freely;  and,  as  usual  in  such  circum- 
stances,, she  vented  her  displeasure  upon  the  persons 
immediately  under  her  charge. 

"Hurry  now,  Catherine!  Will  you  never  finish  set- 
ting the  table?  I  told  you  before  to  put  on  the  Bri- 
tannia; these  gentlemen  are  used  to  eating  with  silver. 
Listen  to  me  when  I  am  talking  to  you.  Who  washed 
these  glasses?  What  a  shame!  You  are  as  afraid  of 
water  as  a  mad-dog.  And  you!  what  are  you  staring 
[73] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

at  that  chicken  for,  instead  of  basting  it?  If  you  let 
it  burn  you  shall  go  to  bed  without  any  supper.  If 
it  is  not  provoking!"  she  continued,  in  a  scolding 
tone,  visiting  her  stewpans  one  after  another,  "every- 
thing is  dried  up;  a  fillet  that  was  as  tender  as  it  could 
be  will  be  scorched !  This  is  the  third  time  that  I  have 
diluted  the  gravy.  Catherine!  bring  me  a  dish.  Now, 
then,  make  haste." 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  interrupted  the  artist,  "that 
Gerfaut  is  making  a  fool  of  me.  I  do  not  see  what 
can  have  become  of  him.  Tell  me,  Madame  Gobillot, 
are  you  certain  that  an  amateur  of  art  and  the  pictur- 
esque, travelling  at  this  hour,  would  not  be  eaten  by 
wolves  or  plundered  by  robbers  in  these  mountains?" 

"Our  mountains  are  safe,  Monsieur,"  replied  the 
landlady,  with  offended  dignity;  "except  for  the  ped- 
ler  who  was  assassinated  six  months  ago  and  whose 
body  was  found  in  the  Combe-aux-Renards " 

"And  the  driver  who  was  stopped  three  weeks  ago 
in  the  Fosse,"  added  Mademoiselle  Reine;  "the 
thieves  did  not  quite  kill  him,  but  he  is  still  in  the 
hospital  at  Remiremont. " 

"Oh!  that  is  enough  to  make  one's  hair  stand  on 
end!  This  is  worse  than  the  forest  of  Bondy!  Truly, 
if  I  knew  what  direction  my  friend  took  this  morning, 
I  would  follow  him  with  my  pistols. " 

"Here  is  Fritz,"  said  Madame  Gobillot.  "He  met 
a  stranger  in  the  woods  who  gave  him  ten  sous  for 
telling  him  the  way  to  Bergenheim.  From  his  de- 
scription, it  seems  that  it  must  be  the  gentleman  you 
speak  of.  Tell  us  about  it,  Fritz. " 
[74] 


GERFAUT 

The  child  related  in  his  Alsatian  patois  his  meeting 
of  the  afternoon,  and  the  artist  was  convinced  that  it 
was  Gerfaut  he  had  met. 

"He  must  be  wandering  in  the  valley,"  said  he, 
"dreaming  about  our  play.  But  did  you  not  say  some- 
thing about  Bergenheim?  Is  there  a  village  near  here 
by  that  name?" 

"  There  is  a  chateau  of  that  name,  Monsieur,  and 
it  is  about  a  league  from  here  as  you  go  up  the 
river. " 

"And  does  this  chiteau  happen  to  belong  to  the 
Baron  de  Bergenheim — a  large,  blond,  good-looking 
fellow,  with  rather  reddish  moustache?" 

"That's  the  picture  of  its  owner,  only  that  the 
Baron  does  not  wear  a  moustache  now,  not  since  he 
left  the  service.  Do  you  know  him,  Monsieur?" 

"Yes,  I  know  him!  Speaking  of  service,  I  once 
rendered  him  one  which  was  of  some  account.  Is 
he  at  the  castle?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  and  his  lady  also." 

"Ah!  his  wife,  too.  She  was  a  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil,  of  Provence.  Is  she  pretty?" 

"Pretty,"  said  Mademoiselle  Gobillot,  pursing  up 
her  lips,  "that  depends  upon  tastes.  If  a  person  likes 
a  face  as  white  as  a  ghost,  she  is.  And,  then,  she  is 
so  thin !  It  certainly  can  not  be  very  difficult  to  have 
a  slender  waist  when  one  is  as  thin  as  that. " 

"Not  everybody  can  have  rosy  cheeks  and  a  form 
like  an  enchantress, "  said  the  painter,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  he  looked  at  his  model  in  a  seductive  manner. 

"There  are  some  people  who  think  that  Monsieur's 
[751 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

sister  is  prettier  than  Madame,"  observed  Madame 
Gobillot. 

"O  mother!  how  can  you  say  that?"  exclaimed 
Reine  with  a  disdainful  air.  "Mademoiselle  Aline! 
A  child  of  fifteen!  She  certainly  is  not  wanting  in 
color;  her  hair  is  such  a  blond,  such  a  red,  rather! 
It  looks  as  if  it  were  on  fire. " 

"Do  not  say  anything  against  red  hair,  I  beg  of 
you,"  said  the  artist,  "it  is  an  eminently  artistic  shade, 
which  is  very  popular. " 

"With  some  it  may  be  so,  but  with  Christians!  It 
seems  to  me  that  black  hair " 

"When  it  is  long  and  glossy  like  yours,  it  is  won- 
derful," said  the  young  man,  darting  another  killing 
glance.  "Madame  Gobillot,  would  you  mind  clos- 
ing that  door  ?  One  can  not  hear  one's  self  think  here. 
I  am  a  little  critical,  so  far  as  music  is  concerned,  and 
you  have  two  sopranos  outside  who  deafen  me  with 
their  shrieks." 

"It  is  Marguerite  Mottet  and  her  sister.  Since  our 
cure  has  taken  to  teaching  them,  they  bore  us  to 
death,  coming  here  and  singing  their  fine  songs.  One 
of  these  days  I  shall  notify  them  to  leave." 

As  she  said  these  words,  Madame  Gobillot  went  to 
close  the  door  in  order  to  please  her  guest;  as  soon 
as  her  back  was  turned,  the  latter  leaned  forward  with 
the  boldness  of  a  Lovelace  and  imprinted  a  very  lov- 
ing kiss  upon  the  rosy  cheek  of  Mademoiselle  Reine, 
who  never  thought  of  drawing  back  until  the  offence 
was  committed. 

The  sole  witness  to  this  incident  was  the  little 
[76] 


GERFAUT 

kitchen  drudge,  whose  blue  eyes  had  been  fastened  upon 
the  artist's  moustache  and  beard  for  some  time.  They 
seemed  to  plunge  him  into  a  deep  admiration.  But  at 
this  unexpected  event  his  amazement  was  so  complete 
that  he  dropped  his  spoon  into  the  ashes. 

"Eh!  mein  herr,  do  you  wish  to  go  to  bed  without 
your  supper,  as  has  been  promised  you?"  said  the 
young  man,  while  the  beautiful  Reine  was  trying  to 
recover  her  countenance.  "Now,  then,  sing  us  a  little 
song  instead  of  staring  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  giraffe. 
Your  little  cook  has  a  nice  voice,  Madame  Gobillot. 
Now,  then,  mein  herr,  give  us  a  little  German  lied. 
I  will  give  you  six  kreutzers  if  you  sing  in  tune,  and  a 
flogging  if  you  grate  upon  my  ears. " 

He  arose  and  put  his  album  under  his  arm. 

"And  my  portrait?"  exclaimed  the  young  girl, 
whose  cheek  was  still  burning  from  the  kiss  she  had 
just  received. 

The  painter  drew  near  her,  smiling,  and  said  in  a 
mysterious  tone: 

"When  I  make  a  portrait  of  a  pretty  person  like 
you,  I  never  finish  it  the  first  day.  If  you  will  give  me 
another  sitting  in  the  morning  before  your  mother 
arises  I  promise  to  finish  this  sketch  in  a  way  that  will 
not  be  displeasing  to  you." 

Mademoiselle  Reine  saw  that  her  mother  was  watch- 
ing her,  and  walked  away  with  no  reply  save  a  glance 
which  was  not  discouraging. 

"Now,  then!  You  droll  little  fellow!"  exclaimed 
the  artist,  as  he  whirled  on  one  foot;  "triple  time; 
one,  two,  begin." 

177] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

The  child  burst  into  an  Alsatian  song  in  a  high, 
ringing  voice. 

"Wait  a  moment!  What  devilish  key  are  you  sing- 
ing that  in? — La,  la,  la,  la;  mi,  in  E  major,  key  of 
four  sharps.  By  Jove,  my  little  man!  here  is  a  fellow 
who  sings  B's  and  C's  away  up  in  the  clouds;  an  E 
sharp,  too!"  he  continued,  with  astonishment,  while 
the  singer  made  a  hold  upon  the  keynote  an  octave 
higher  in  a  voice  as  clear  as  a  crystal. 

The  artist  threw  into  the  fire  the  cigar  which  he  had 
just  lighted,  and  began  pacing  the  kitchen  floor,  pay- 
ing no  more  attention  to  Mademoiselle  Reine,  who 
felt  a  little  piqued  at  seeing  herself  neglected  for  a 
kitchen  drudge. 

"A  rare  voice,"  said  he,  as  he  took  a  great  stride; 
"per  Bacco,  a  very  rare  voice.  Added  to  that,  he  sings 
very  deep;  two  octaves  and  a  half,  a  clear,  ringing 
tone,  the  two  registers  are  well  united.  He  would 
make  an  admirable  primo  musico.  And  the  little 
fellow  has  a  pretty  face,  too.  After  supper  I  will  make 
him  wash  his  face,  and  I  will  sketch  it.  I  am  sure 
that  in  less  than  a  year's  study,  he  could  fnake  his 
debut  with  the  greatest  success.  By  Jove!  I  have  an 
idea!  Why  does  not  that  Gerfaut  return?  Now, 
then,  he  would  do  very  well  for  'Pippo'  in  La  Gazza, 
or  for  Gemma  in  Wilhelm  Tell.  But  we  must  have 
a  rdle  for  him  to  make  his  d£but  in.  What  subject 
could  we  take  properly  to  introduce  a  child's  part? 

Why  does  not  that  d Gerfaut  come?  A  child, 

girl  or  boy;   a  boy  part  would  be  better.    Daniel,  of 

course;  viva  Daniel!     The  Chaste  Suzannah,  opera  in 

[78] 


GERFAUT 

three  acts.  Madame  Begrand  would  be  fine  as  Suzan- 
nah.  By  Jove!  if  Meyerbeer  would  only  take  charge 
of  the  score!  That  falls  to  him  by  right  as  a  com- 
patriot. Then,  that  would  give  him  an  opportunity 
to  break  lances  with  Mehul  and  Rossini.  If  that 
fool  of  a  Gerfaut  would  only  come!  Let  us  see  what 
would  be  the  three  characters:  Soprano,  Suzannah; 
contralto,  David;  the  old  men,  two  basses;  as  for  the 
tenor,  he  would  be,  of  course,  Suzannah's  husband. 
There  would  be  a  superb  entrance  for  him  upon  his 
return  from  the  army,  cavatina  guerriera  con  cori. 
Oh!  that  terrible  Gerfaut!  the  wolves  must  have  de- 
voured him.  If  he  were  here,  we  would  knock  off 
the  thing  between  our  fruit  and  cheese. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  suddenly. 

"Is  supper  ready?"  asked  a  deep  voice. 

"Eh,  here  he  is,  the  dear  friend! 

"O  surprise  extreme/ 
Grand  Dieu  I  c'est  lui-m£me — 

alive  and  in  the  flesh." 

"And  hungry,"  said  Gerfaut,  as  he  dropped  into  a 
chair  near  the  fire. 

"Would  you  like  to  compose  an  opera  in  three  acts, 
The  Chaste  Suzannah,  music  by  Meyerbeer?" 

"I  should  like  some  supper  first.  Madame  Go- 
billot,  I  beseech  you,  give  me  something  to  eat.  Thanks 
to  your  mountain  air,  I  am  almost  starved." 

"But,  Monsieur,  we  have  been  waiting  two  hours 
for  you,"  retorted  the  landlady,  as  she  made  each 
stewpan  dance  in  succession. 
[79] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"That  is  a  fact,"  said  the  artist;  "let  us  go  into  the 
dining-room,  then. 

"Gi&  la  mensa  e  preparata." 

"While  supping,  I  will  explain  my  plans  to  you.  I 
have  just  found  a  Daniel  in  the  ashes — 

"My  dear  Marillac,  drop  your  Daniel  and  Suzan- 
nah,"  replied  Gerfaut,  as  he  sat  down  to  the  table: 
"I  have  something  much  more  important  to  talk  tc 
you  about." 


[80] 


CHAPTER  VI 

GERFAUT'S  STORY 

tHILE  the  two  friends  are  devouring 
to  the  very  last  morsel  the  feast  pre- 
pared for  them  by  Madame  Gobillot, 
it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  explain 
in  a  few  words  the  nature  of  the 
bonds  that  united  these  two  men. 

The  Vicomte  de  Gerfaut  was  one  of 
those  talented  beings  who  are  the  veri- 
table champions  of  an  age  when  the  lightest  pen  weighs 
more  in  the  social  balance  than  our  ancestors'  heaviest 
sword.  He  was  born  in  the  south  of  France,  of  one  of 
those  old  families  whose  fortune  had  diminished  each 
generation,  their  name  finally  being  almost  all  that  they 
had  left.  After  making  many  sacrifices  to  give  their 
son  an  education  worthy  of  his  birth,  his  parents  did 
not  live  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  efforts,  and  Ger- 
faut became  an  orphan  at  the  time  when  he  had  just 
finished  his  law  studies.  He  then  abandoned  the 
career  of  which  his  father  had  dreamed  for  him,  and 
the  possibilities  of  a  red  gown  bordered  with  ermine. 
A  mobile  and  highly  colored  imagination,  a  passionate 
love  for  the  arts,  and,  more  than  all,  some  intimacies 
contracted  with  men  of  letters,  decided  his  vocation 
and  launched  him  into  literature. 
6  [81] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

The  ardent  young  man,  without  a  murmur  or  any 
misgivings,  drank  to  the  very  dregs  the  cup  poured 
out  to  neophytes  in  the  harsh  career  of  letters  by 
editors,  theatrical  managers,  and  publishers.  With 
some,  this  course  ends  in  suicide,  but  it  only  cost  Ger- 
faut  a  portion  of  his  slender  patrimony;  he  bore  this 
loss  like  a  man  who  feels  that  he  is  strong  enough 
to  repair  it.  When  his  plans  were  once  made,  he  fol- 
lowed them  up  with  indefatigable  perseverance,  and 
became  a  striking  example  of  the  irresistible  power  of 
intelligence  united  to  will-power.  Reputation,  for 
him,  lay  in  the  unknown  depths  of  an  arid  and  rocky 
soil;  he  was  obliged,  in  order  to  reach  it,  to  dig  a  sort 
of  artesian  well.  Gerfaut  accepted  this  heroic  labor; 
he  worked  day  and  night  for  several  years,  his  fore- 
head, metaphorically,  bathed  in  a  painful  perspiration 
alleviated  only  by  hopes  far  away.  At  last  the  untir- 
ing worker's  drill  struck  the  underground  spring  over 
which  so  many  noble  ones  breathlessly  bend,  although 
their  thirst  is  never  quenched.  At  this  victorious 
stroke,  glory  burst  forth,  falling  in  luminous  sparks, 
making  this  new  name — his  name — flash  with  a  bril- 
liancy too  dearly  paid  for  not  to  be  lasting. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  Octave  had  con- 
quered every  obstacle  in  the  literary  field.  With  a 
versatility  of  talent  which  sometimes  recalled  Vol- 
taire's "proteanism,"  he  attacked  in  succession  the  most 
difficult  styles.  Besides  their  poetic  value,  his  dramas 
had  this  positive  merit,  the  highest  in  the  theatre  world : 
they  were  money-makers;  so  the  managers  greeted 
him  with  due  respect,  while  collaborators  swarmed 
[82] 


GERFAUT 

about  him.  The  journals  paid  for  his  articles  in  theh 
weight  in  gold;  reviews  snatched  every  line  of  his  yet 
unfinished  novels;  his  works  were  illustrated  by  Por- 
ret  and  Tony  Johannot — the  masters  of  the  day — 
and  shone  resplendent  behind  the  glass  cases  in  the 
Orleans  gallery.  Gerfaut  had  at  last  made  a  place 
for  himself  among  that  baker's  dozen  of  writers  who 
call  themselves,  and  justly,  too,  the  field-marshals  of 
French  literature,  of  which  Chateaubriand  was  then 
commander-in-chief. 

What  was  it  that  had  brought  such  a  person  a  hun- 
dred leagues  from  the  opera  balcony,  to  put  on  a 
pretty  woman's  slipper?  Was  the  fair  lady  one  of 
those  caprices,  so  frequent  and  fleeting  in  an  artist's 
thoughts,  or  had  she  given  birth  to  one  of  those  sen- 
timents that  end  by  absorbing  the  rest  of  one's  life? 

The  young  man  seated  opposite  Gerfaut  was,  phys- 
ically and  morally,  as  complete  a  contrast  to  him  as 
one  could  possibly  imagine.  He  was  one  of  the  kind 
very  much  in  request  in  fashionable  society.  There 
is  not  a  person  who  has  not  met  one  of  these  worthy 
fellows,  destined  to  make  good  officers,  perfect  mer- 
chants, and  very  satisfactory  lawyers,  but  who,  unfort- 
unately, have  been  seized  with  a  mania  for  notoriety. 
Ordinarily  they  think  of  it  on  account  of  somebody 
else's  talent.  This  one  is  brother  to  a  poet,  another 
son-in-law  to  a  historian;  they  conclude  that  they 
also  have  a  right  to  be  poet  and  historian  in  their  turn. 
Thomas  Corneille  is  their  model;  but  we  must  admit 
that  very  few  of  our  writers  reach  the  rank  attained 
by  Corneille  the  younger. 

[833 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Marillac  was  train-bearer  to  Gerfaut,  and  was  re- 
warded for  this  bondage  by  a  few  bribes  of  collabora- 
tion, crumbs  that  fall  from  the  rich  man's  table. 
They  had  been  close  friends  since  they  both  entered 
the  law  school,  where  they  were  companions  in  folly 
rather  than  in  study.  Marillac  also  had  thrown  him- 
self into  the  arena  of  literature;  then,  different  fort- 
unes having  greeted  the  two  friends'  efforts,  he  had 
descended  little  by  little  from  the  role  of  a  rival  to  that 
of  an  inferior.  Marillac  was  an  artist,  talent  accepted, 
from  the  tip  of  his  toes  to  the  sole  of  his  boots,  which 
he  wished  to  lengthen  by  pointed  toes  out  of  respect 
for  the  Middle  Ages;  for  he  excelled  above  all  things 
in  his  manner  of  dressing,  and  possessed,  among  other 
intellectual  merits,  the  longest  moustache  in  literature. 

If  he  had  not  art  in  his  brain,  to  make  up  for  it 
he  always  had  its  name  at  his  tongue's  end.  Vaude- 
ville writing  or  painting,  poetry  or  music,  he  dabbled 
in  all  these,  like  those  horses  sold  as  good  for  both 
riding  and  driving,  which  are  as  bad  in  the  saddle 
as  in  front  of  a  tilbury.  He  signed  himself  "Marillac, 
man  of  letters";  meanwhile,  aside  from  his  profound 
disdain  for  the  bourgeois,  whom  he  called  vulgar,  and 
for  the  French  Academy,  to  which  he  had  sworn  never 
to  belong,  one  could  reproach  him  with  nothing.  His 
penchant  for  the  picturesque  in  expression  was  not 
always,  it  is  true,  in  the  most  excellent  taste,  but,  in 
spite  of  these  little  oddities,  his  unfortunate  passion 
for  art,  and  his  affection  for  the  Middle  Ages,  he  was 
a  brave,  worthy,  and  happy  fellow,  full  of  good  quali- 
ties, very  much  devoted  to  his  friends,  above  all  to 
[84] 


GERFAUT 

Gerfaut.     One  could,  therefore,  pardon  him  for  being 
a  pseudo-artist. 

"Will  your  story  be  a  long  one  ?"  said  he  to  the  play- 
wright, when  Catherine  had  conducted  them  after  sup- 
per to  the  double-bedded  room,  where  they  were  to 
pass  the  night. 

"Long  or  short,  what  does  it  matter,  since  you  must 
listen  to  it?" 

"Because,  first,  I  would  make  some  grog  and  fill  my 
pipe;  otherwise,  I  would  content  myself  with  a  cigar." 

"Take  your  pipe  and  make  your  grog." 

"Here!"  said  the  artist,  running  after  Catherine, 
"don't  rush  downstairs  so.  You  are  wanted.  Fear 
nothing,  interesting  maid;  you  are  safe  with  us;  but 
bring  us  a  couple  of  glasses,  brandy,  sugar,  a  bowl, 
and  some  hot  water." 

"They  want  some  hot  water,"  cried  the  servant, 
rushing  into  the  kitchen  with  a  frightened  look;  "can 
they  be  ill  at  this  hour?" 

"Give  the  gentlemen  what  they  want,  you  little 
simpleton!"  replied  Mademoiselle  Reine;  "they  prob- 
ably want  to  concoct  some  of  their  Paris  drinks." 

When  all  the  articles  necessary  for  the  grog  were 
on  the  table,  Marillac  drew  up  an  old  armchair,  took 
another  chair  to  stretch  his  legs  upon,  replaced  his 
cap  with  a  handkerchief  artistically  knotted  about  his 
head,  his  boots  with  a  pair  of  slippers,  and,  finally, 
lighted  his  pipe. 

"Now,"  said  he,  as  he  seated  himself,  "I  will  listen 
without  moving  an  eyelid  should  your  story  last,  like 
the  creation,  six  days  and  nights." 
[85] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Gerfaut  took  two  or  three  turns  about  the  room 
with  the  air  of  an  orator  who  is  seeking  for  a  begin- 
ning to  a  speech. 

"You  know,"  said  he,  "that  Fate  has  more  or  less 
influence  over  our  lives,  according  to  the  condition  of 
mind  in  which  we  happen  to  be.  In  order  that  you 
may  understand  the  importance  of  the  adventure  I  am 
about  relating  to  you,  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to 
picture  the  state  of  mind  which  I  was  in  at  the  time 
it  happened;  this  will  be  a  sort  of  philosophical  and 
psychological  preamble. " 

"Thunder!"  interrupted  Marillac,  "if  I  had  known 
that,  I  would  have  ordered  a  second  bowl. " 

"You  will  remember,"  continued  Gerfaut,  paying 
no  attention  to  this  pleasantry,  "the  rather  bad  attack 
of  spleen  which  I  had  a  little  over  a  year  ago?" 

"Before  your  trip  to  Switzerland?" 

"Exactly." 

"If  I  remember  right,"  said  the  artist,  "you  were 
strangely  cross  and  whimsical  at  the  time.  Was  it 
not  just  after  the  failure  of  our  drama  at  the  Porte 
Saint-Martin?" 

"You  might  also  add  of  our  play  at  the  Gymnase." 

"I  wash  my  hands  of  that.  You  know  very  well 
that  it  only  went  as  far  as  the  second  act,  and  I  did 
not  write  one  word  in  the  first." 

"And  hardly  one  in  the  second.  However,  I  take 
the  catastrophe  upon  my  shoulders;  that  made  two 
perfect  failures  in  that  d -d  month  of  August." 

"Two  failures  that  were  hard  to  swallow,"  replied 
Marillac.  "We  can  say,  for  our  consolation,  that 
[86] 


GERFAUT 

there  never  were  more  infamous  conspiracies  against 
us,  above  all,  than  at  the  Gymnase.  My  ears  ring 
with  the  hisses  yet!  I  could  see,  from  our  box,  a 
little  villain  in  a  dress  coat,  in  one  corner  of  the  pit, 
who  gave  the  signal  with  a  whistle  as  large  as  a  horse- 
pistol.  How  I  would  have  liked  to  cram  it  down  his 
throat!"  As  he  said  these  words,  he  brought  his  fist 
down  upon  the  table,  and  made  the  glasses  and  can- 
dles dance  upon  it. 

"Conspiracy  or  not,  this  time  they  judged  the  play 
aright.  I  believe  it  would  be  impossible  to  imagine 
two  worse  plays;  but,  as  Brid'  Oison  says,  'These  are 
things  that  one  admits  only  to  himself;  it  is  always 
disagreeable  to  be  informed  of  one's  stupidity  by  an 
ignorant  audience  that  shouts  after  you  like  a  pack  of 
hounds  after  a  hare.  In  spite  of  my  pretension  of 
being  the  least  susceptible  regarding  an  author's  vanity 
of  all  the  writers  in  Paris,  it  is  perfectly  impossible  to 
be  indifferent  to  such  a  thing — a  hiss  is  a  hiss.  How- 
ever, vanity  aside,  there  was  a  question  of  money 
which,  as  I  have  a  bad  habit  of  spending  regularly 
my  capital  as  well  as  my  income,  was  not  without  its 
importance.  It  meant,  according  to  my  calculation, 
some  sixty  thousand  francs  cut  off  from  my  resources, 
and  my  trip  to  the  East  was  indefinitely  postponed. 

"They  say,  with  truth,  that  misfortunes  never  come 
singly.  You  know  Melanie,  whom  I  prevented  from 
making  her  debut  at  the  Vaudeville?  By  taking  her 
away  from  all  society,  lodging  her  in  a  comfortable 
manner  and  obliging  her  to  work,  I  rendered  her  a 
valuable  service.  She  was  a  good  girl,  and,  aside 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

from  her  love  for  the  theatre  and  a  certain  indolence 
that  was  not  without  charm,  I  did  not  find  any  fault 
in  her  and  grew  more  attached  to  her  every  day. 
Sometimes  after  spending  long  hours  with  her,  a  fancy 
for  a  retired  life  and  domestic  happiness  would  seize 
me.  Gentlemen  with  brains  are  privileged  to  commit 
foolish  acts  at  times,  and  I  really  do  not  know  what  I 
might  have  ended  in  doing,  had  I  not  been  preserved 
from  the  danger  in  an  unexpected  manner. 

"One  evening,  when  I  arrived  at  Melanie's,  I  found 
the  bird  had  flown.  That  great  ninny  of  a  Ferussac, 
whom  I  never  had  suspected,  and  had  introduced  to 
her  myself,  had  turned  her  head  by  making  capital  out 
of  her  love  for  the  stage.  As  he  was  about  to  leave 
for  Belgium,  he  persuaded  her  to  go  there  and  de- 
throne Mademoiselle  Prevost.  I  have  since  learned 
that  a  Brussels  banker  revenged  me  by  taking  this 
Helene  of  the  stage  away  from  Ferussac.  Now  she 
is  launched  and  can  fly  with  her  own  wings  upon  the 
great  highway  of  bravos,  flowers,  guineas ' 

"And  wreck  and  ruin,"  added  Marillac.  " Here's 
to  her  health!" 

"This  triple  disappointment  of  pride,  money,  and 
heart  did  not  cause,  I  hope  you  will  believe  me,  the 
deep  state  of  melancholy  into  which  I  soon  fell;  but 
the  malady  manifested  itself  upon  this  occasion,  for 
it  had  been  lurking  about  me  for  a  long  time,  as  the 
dormant  pain  of  a  wound  is  aroused  if  one  pours  a 
caustic  upon  its  surface. 

"There  is  some  dominant  power  in  each  individual 
which  is  developed  at  the  expense  of  the  other  facul- 
[88] 


GERFAUT 

ties,  above  all  when  the  profession  one  chooses  suits 
his  nature.  The  vital  powers  thus  condensed  man- 
ifest themselves  externally,  and  gush  out  with  an 
abundance  which  would  become  impossible  if  all  the 
faculties  were  used  alike,  and  if  life  filtered  away,  so 
to  speak.  To  avoid  such  destruction,  and  concentrate 
life  upon  one  point,  in  order  to  increase  the  action, 
is  the  price  of  talent  and  individuality.  Among  ath- 
letes, the  forehead  contracts  according  as  the  chest 
enlarges;  with  men  of  thought,  it  is  the  brain  which 
causes  the  other  organs  to  suffer,  insatiable  vampire, 
exhausting  at  times  the  last  drop  of  blood  in  the  body 
which  serves  as  its  victim.  This  vampire  was  my 
torturer. 

"For  ten  years  I  had  crowded  romance  upon  poetry, 
vaudeville  upon  drama,  literary  criticism  UDon  leader; 
I  proved,  through  my  own  self,  in  a  physical  way,  the 
phenomena  of  the  absorption  of  the  senses  by  intelli- 
gence. Many  times,  after  several  nights  of  hard  work, 
the  chords  of  my  mind  being  too  violently  stretched, 
they  relaxed  and  gave  only  indistinct  harmony.  Then, 
if  I  happened  to  resist  this  lassitude  of  nature  de- 
manding repose,  I  felt  the  pressure  of  my  will  ex- 
hausting the  sources  at  the  very  depths  of  my  being. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  dug  out  my  ideas  from  the 
bottom  of  a  mine,  instead  of  gathering  them  upon  the 
surface  of  the  brain.  The  more  material  organs  came 
to  the  rescue  of  their  failing  chief.  The  blood  from 
my  heart  rushed  to  my  head  to  revive  it;  the  muscles 
of  my  limbs  communicated  to  the  fibres  of  the  brain 
their  galvanic  tension.  Nerves  turned  into  imagina- 
[89] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

tion,  flesh  into  life.  Nothing  has  developed  my  ma- 
terialistic beliefs  like  this  decarnation  of  which  I  had 
such  a  sensible,  or  rather  visible  perception. 

"I  destroyed  my  health  with  these  psychological 
experiments,  and  the  abuse  of  work  perhaps  shortened 
my  life.  When  I  was  thirty  years  old  my  face  was 
wrinkled,  my  cheeks  were  pallid,  and  my  heart  blighted 
and  empty.  For  what  result,  grand  Dieu!  For  a 
fleeting  and  fruitless  renown! 

"The  failure  of  my  two  plays  warned  me  that  others 
judged  me  as  I  judged  myself.  I  recalled  to  mind 
the  Archbishop  of  Granada,  and  I  thought  I  could 
hear  Gil  Bias  predicting  the  failure  of  my  works.  We 
can  not  dismiss  the  public  as  we  can  our  secretary; 
meanwhile,  I  surrendered  to  a  too  severe  justice  in 
order  to  decline  others'  opinions.  A  horrible  thought 
suddenly  came  into  my  mind;  my  artistic  life  was 
ended,  I  was  a  worn-out  man;  in  one  word,  to  picture 
my  situation  in  a  trivial  but  correct  manner,  I  had 
reached  the  end  of  my  rope — 

"I  could  not  express  to  you  the  discouragement 
that  I  felt  at  this  conviction.  Melanie's  infidelity  was 
the  crowning  touch.  It  was  not  my  heart,  but  my 
vanity  which  had  been  rendered  more  irritable  by  re- 
cent disappointments.  This,  then,  was  the  end  of  all 
my  ambitious  dreams!  I  had  not  enough  mind  left, 
at  thirty  years  of  age,  to  write  a  vaudeville  or  to  be 
loved  by  a  grisette! 

"One  day  Doctor  Labanchie  came  to  see  me. 

"  'What  are  you  doing  there'  said  he,  as  he  saw  me 
seated  at  my  desk. 

[90] 


GERFAUT 

"  'Doctor,'  said  I,  reaching  out  my  hand  to  him,  'I 
believe  that  I  am  a  little  feverish. ' 

"  'Your  pulse  is  a  little  rapid,'  said  he,  after  mak- 
ing careful  examination,  'but  your  fever  is  more  of 
imagination  than  of  blood.' 

"I  explained  to  him  my  condition,  which  was  now 
becoming  almost  unendurable.  Without  believing  in 
medicine  very  much,  I  had  confidence  in  him  and 
knew  him  to  be  a  man  who  would  give  good  advice. 

"  'You  work  too  much,'  said  he,  shaking  his  head. 
'Your  brain  is  put  to  too  strong  a  tension.  This  is  a 
warning  nature  gives  you,  and  you  will  make  a  mis- 
take if  you  do  not  follow  it.  When  you  are  sleepy, 
go  to  bed;  when  you  are  tired,  you  must  have  rest. 
It  is  rest  for  your  brain  that  you  now  need.  Go 
into  the  country,  confine  yourself  to  a  regular  and 
healthy  diet:  vegetables,  white  meat,  milk  in  the 
morning,  a  very  little  wine,  but,  above  all  things,  no 
coffee.  Take  moderate  exercise,  hunt — and  avoid  all 
irritating  thoughts;  read  the  Musee  des  families  or  the 
Magasin  Pittoresque.  This  regime  will  have  the  effect 
of  a  soothing  poultice  upon  your  brain,  and  before 
the  end  of  six  months  you  will  be  in  your  normal  con- 
dition again.' 

"  'Six  months!'  I  exclaimed.  'You  wretch  of  a 
doctor,  tell  me,  then,  to  let  my  beard  and  nails  grow 
like  Nebuchadnezzar.  Six  months !  You  do  not  know 
how  I  detest  the  country,  partridges,  rabbits  and  all. 
For  heaven's  sake,  find  some  other  remedy  for  me. ' 

"  'There  is  homoeopathy,'  said  he,  smiling.  'Hahne- 
mann  is  quite  the  fashion  now.' 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"  'Let  us  have  homoeopathy!' 

"  'You  know  the  principles  of  the  system:  'Similia 
similibus!'  If  you  have  fever,  redouble  it;  if  you 
have  smallpox,  be  inoculated  with  a  triple  dose.  So 
far  as  you  are  concerned,  you  are  a  little  used  up  and 
blase,  as  we  all  are  in  this  Babylon  of  ours;  have  re- 
course, then,  as  a  remedy,  to  the  very  excesses  which 
have  brought  you  into  this  state.  Homceopathize 
yourself  morally.  It  may  cure  you,  it  may  kill  you; 
I  wash  my  hands  of  it.' 

"The  doctor  was  joking,  I  said  to  myself  after  he 
had  left.  Does  he  think  that  passions  are  like  the 
Wandering  Jew's  five  sous,  that  there  is  nothing  to  do 
but  to  put  your  hand  in  your  pocket  and  take  them 
out  at  your  convenience  when  necessary.  However, 
this  idea,  strange  as  it  seemed,  struck  me  forcibly. 
I  decided  to  try  it. 

"The  next  day  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  I 
was  rolling  along  the  road  to  Lyons.  Eight  days 
later,  I  was  rowing  in  a  boat  on  Lake  Geneva.  For  a 
long  time  I  had  wanted  to  go  to  Switzerland,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  I  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  time.  I 
hoped  that  the  fresh  mountain  air  and  the  soft  pure 
breezes  from  the  lakes  would  communicate  some  of 
their  calm  serenity  to  my  heart  and  brain. 

"There  is  something  in  Parisian  life,  I  do  not  know 
what,  so  exclusive  and  hardening,  that  it  ends  by 
making  one  irresponsive  to  sensations  of  a  more  sim- 
ple order. 

"'My  kingdom  for  the  gutter  in  the  Rue  du  Bac!' 
I  exclaimed  with  Madame  de  Stael  from  the  height 
[92] 


GERFAUT 

of  the  Coppet  terrace.  The  spectacle  of  nature  inter- 
ests only  contemplative  and  religious  minds  power- 
fully. Mine  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  My 
habits  of  analysis  and  observation  make  me  find  more 
attraction  in  a  characteristic  face  than  in  a  magnificent 
landscape;  I  prefer  the  exercising  of  thought  to  the 
careless  gratification  of  ecstasy,  the  study  of  flesh  and 
soul  to  earthly  horizons,  of  human  passions  to  a  per- 
fectly pure  atmosphere. 

"I  met  at  Geneva  an  Englishman,  who  was  as 
morose  as  myself.  We  vented  our  spleen  in  common 
and  were  both  bored  together.  We  travelled  thus 
through  the  Oberland  and  the  best  part  of  Valais; 
we  were  often  rolled  up  in  our  travelling  robes  in  the 
depths  of  the  carriage,  and  fast  asleep  when  the  most 
beautiful  points  of  interest  were  in  sight. 

"From  Valais  we  went  to  Mont-Blanc,  and  one 
night  we  arrived  at  Chamounix — 

"Did  you  see  any  idiots  in  Valais?"  suddenly  inter- 
rupted Marillac,  as  he  filled  his  pipe  the  second  time. 

"Several,  and  they  were  all  horrible." 

"Do  you  not  think  we  might  compose  something 
with  an  idiot  in  it?  It  might  be  rather  taking." 

"It  would  not  equal  Caliban  or  Quasimodo;  will 
you  be  so  kind  as  to  spare  me  just  now  these  efforts 
of  imagination,  and  listen  to  me,  for  I  am  reaching 
the  interesting  part  of  my  story?" 

"God  be  praised!"  said  the  artist,  as  he  puffed  out 
an  enormous  cloud  of  smoke. 

"The  next  day  the  Englishman  was  served  with  tea 
in  his  bedroom,  and  when  I  asked  him  to  go  to  the 
[93] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Mer  de  Glace  he  turned  his  head  toward  the  wall; 
so,  leaving  my  phlegmatic  companion  enveloped  in 
bedclothes  up  to  his  ears,  I  started  alone  for  the 
Montanvert. 

"It  was  a  magnificent  morning,  and  small  parties 
of  travellers,  some  on  foot,  others  mounted,  skirted 
the  banks  of  the  Arve  or  climbed  the  sides  of  the  moun- 
tain. They  looked  like  groups  of  mice  in  the  distance, 
and  this  extreme  lessening  in  size  made  one  com- 
prehend, better  than  anything  else,  the  immense  pro- 
portions of  the  landscape.  As  for  myself,  I  was  alone : 
I  had  not  even  taken  a  guide,  this  was  too  favorite  a 
resort  for  tourists,  for  the  precaution  to  be  necessary. 
For  a  wonder,  I  felt  rather  gay,  with  an  elasticity  of 
body  and  mind  which  I  had  not  felt  in  some  time. 
I  courageously  began  climbing  the  rough  pathway 
which  led  to  the  Mer  de  Glace,  aiding  myself  with  a 
long  staff,  which  I  had  procured  at  the  inn. 

"At  every  step  I  breathed  with  renewed  pleasure 
the  fresh,  pure,  morning  air;  I  gazed  vaguely  at  the 
different  effects  of  the  sun  or  mist,  at  the  undulations 
of  the  road,  which  sometimes  rose  almost  straight  up 
in  the  air,  sometimes  followed  a  horizontal  line,  while 
skirting  the  open  abyss  at  the  right.  The  Arve, 
wending  its  course  like  a  silvery  ribbon,  seemed  at 
times  to  recede,  while  the  ridges  of  the  perpendicular 
rocks  stood  out  more  plainly.  At  times,  the  noise  of 
a  falling  avalanche  was  repeated,  echo  after  echo. 
A  troupe  of  German  students  below  me  were  respond- 
ing to  the  voice  of  the  glaciers  by  a  chorus  from 
Oberon.  Following  the  turns  in  the  road,  I  could 
[94] 


GERFAUT 

see  through  the  fir-trees,  or,  rather,  at  my  feet,  their 
long  Teutonic  frock-coats,  their  blond  beards,  and 
caps  about  the  size  of  one's  fist.  As  I  walked  along, 
when  the  path  was  not  too  steep,  I  amused  myself  by 
throwing  my  stick  against  the  trunks  of  the  trees  which 
bordered  the  roadside;  I  remember  how  pleased  I 
was  when  I  succeeded  in  hitting  them,  which  I  admit 
was  not  very  often. 

"In  the  midst  of  this  innocent  amusement,  I  reached 
the  spot  where  the  reign  of  the  Alpine  plants  begins. 
All  at  once  I  saw,  above  me,  a  rock  decked  with  rho- 
dodendrons; these  flowers  looked  like  tufts  of  olean- 
ders through  the  dark  foliage  of  the  fir-trees,  and  pro- 
duced a  charming  effect.  I  left  the  path  in  order  to 
reach  them  sooner,  and  when  I  had  gathered  a  bou- 
quet, I  threw  my  staff  and  at  the  same  time  uttered  a 
joyous  cry,  in  imitation  of  the  students,  my  companions 
on  this  trip. 

"A  frightened  scream  responded  to  mine.  My  staff 
in  its  flight  had  crossed  the  path  and  darted  into  an 
angle  in  the  road.  At  that  same  moment,  I  saw  a 
mule's  head  appear  with  ears  thrown  back  in  terror, 
then  the  rest  of  its  body,  and  upon  its  back  a  lady 
ready  to  fall  into  the  abyss.  Fright  paralyzed  me. 
All  aid  was  impossible  on  account  of  the  narrowness 
of  the  road,  and  this  stranger's  life  depended  upon 
her  coolness  and  the  intelligence  of  her  beast.  Finally 
the  animal  seemed  to  regain  its  courage  and  began  to 
walk  away,  lowering  its  head  as  if  it  could  still  hear 
the  terrible  whistle  of  the  javelin  in  his  ears.  I  slipped 
from  the  rock  upon  which  I  stood  and  seized  the  mule 
[95] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD       . 

by  the  bridle,  and  succeeded  in  getting  them  out  of 
a  bad  position.  I  led  the  animal  in  this  way  for  some 
distance,  until  I  reached  a  place  where  the  path  was 
broader,  and  danger  was  over. 

"I  then  offered  my  apologies  to  the  person  whose 
life  I  had  just  compromised  by  my  imprudence,  and 
for  the  first  time  took  a  good  look  at  her.  She  was 
young  and  well  dressed;  a  black  silk  gown  fitted  her 
slender  form  to  perfection ;  her  straw  hat  was  fastened 
to  the  saddle,  and  her  long  chestnut  hair  floated  in 
disorder  over  her  pale  cheeks.  As  she  heard  my 
voice,  she  opened  her  eyes,  which  in  her  fright  she  had 
instinctively  closed ;  they  seemed  to  me  the  most  beau- 
tiful I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life. 

"She  looked  at  the  precipice  and  turned  away  with 
a  shudder.  Her  glance  rested  upon  me,  and  then 
upon  the  rhododendrons  which  I  held  in  my  hand. 

"The  frightened  expression  on  her  face  was  replaced 
immediately  by  one  of  childish  curiosity. 

"  'What  pretty  flowers!'  she  exclaimed,  in  a  fresh, 
young  voice.  "Are  those  rhododendrons,  Monsieur?' 

"I  presented  her  my  bouquet  without  replying;  as 
she  hesitated  about  taking  it,  I  said: 

"  'If  you  refuse  these  flowers,  Madame,  I  shall  not 
believe  that  you  have  pardoned  me.' 

"By  this  time,  the  persons  who  were  with  her  had 
joined  us.  There  were  two  other  ladies,  three  or  four 
men  mounted  upon  mules,  and  several  guides.  At 
the  word  rhododendron,  a  rather  large,  handsome  fel- 
low, dressed  in  a  pretentious  style,  slipped  from  his 
mule  and  climbed  the  somewhat  steep  precipice  in 
[96] 


GERFAUT 

quest  of  the  flowers  which  seemed  to  be  so  much  in 
favor.  When  he  returned,  panting  for  breath,  with 
an  enormous  bunch  of  them  in  his  hand,  the  lady  had 
already  accepted  mine. 

"  'Thank  you,  Monsieur  de  Mauleon, '  said  she,  with 
a  rather  scornful  air;  '  offer  your  flowers  to  these  ladies. ' 
Then,  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  to  me,  she 
struck  her  mule  with  her  whip,  and  they  rode  away. 

"The  rest  of  the  company  followed  her,  gazing  at 
me  as  they  passed,  the  big,  fashionable  fellow  espe- 
cially giving  me  a  rather  impertinent  glance.  I  did 
not  try  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him  on  account  of  this 
discourteous  manifestation.  When  the  cavalcade  was 
at  some  distance,  I  went  in  search  of  my  stick,  which 
I  found  under  a  tree  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice;  then 
I  continued  climbing  the  steep  path,  with  my  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  rider  in  the  black  silk  gown,  her 
hair  flying  in  the  wind  and  my  bouquet  in  her  hand. 

"  A  few  moments  later,  I  reached  the  pavilion  at  the 
Montanvert,  where  I  found  a  gay  company  gathered 
together,  made  up  principally  of  English  people.  As 
for  myself,  I  must  admit  the  frivolous,  or,  rather  mun- 
dane, bent  of  my  tastes;  the  truly  admirable  spectacle 
presented  to  my  eyes  interested  me  much  less  than 
the  young  stranger,  who  at  this  moment  was  descend- 
ing with  the  lightness  of  a  sylph  the  little  road  which 
led  to  the  Mer  de  Glace. 

"I  do  not  know  what  mysterious  link  bound  me  to 

this  woman.     I  had  met  many  much  more  beautiful, 

but  the  sight  of  them  had  left  me  perfectly  indifferent. 

This  one  attracted  me  from  the  first.     The  singular 

7  [97] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

circumstances  of  this  first  interview,  doubtless,  had 
something  to  do  with  the  impression.  I  felt  glad  to 
see  that  she  had  kept  my  bouquet;  she  held  it  in  one 
hand,  while  she  leaned  with  the  other  upon  a  staff 
somewhat  like  my  own.  The  two  other  ladies,  and 
even  the  men  had  stopped  on  the  edge  of  the  ice. 

Monsieur  de  Mauleon  wished  to  fulfil  his  duties  as 
escort,  but  at  the  first  crevasse  he  had  also  halted 
without  manifesting  the  slightest  desire  to  imitate  the 
chamois.  The  young  woman  seemed  to  take  a  ma- 
licious pleasure  in  contemplating  her  admirer's  pru- 
dent attitude,  and,  far  from  listening  to  the  advice  he 
gave  her,  she  began  to  run  upon  the  ice,  bounding  over 
the  crevasses  with  the  aid  of  her  stick.  I  was  admir- 
ing her  lightness  and  thoughtlessness,  but  with  an  un- 
easy feeling,  when  I  saw  her  suddenly  stop.  I  in- 
stinctively ran  toward  her.  An  enormous  crevasse  of 
great  depth  lay  at  her  feet,  blue  at  its  edges  and  dark 
in  its  depths.  She  stood  motionless  before  this  fright- 
ful gulf  with  hands  thrown  out  before  her  in  horror, 
but  charmed  like  a  bird  about  to  be  swallowed  by  a 
serpent.  I  knew  the  irresistible  effect  upon  nervous 
temperaments  of  this  magnetic  attraction  toward  an 
abyss.  I  seized  her  by  the  arm,  the  suddenness  of  the 
movement  made  her  drop  her  staff  and  flowers,  which 
fell  into  the  depths  of  the  chasm. 

"I  tried  to  lead  her  away,  but  after  she  had  taken 
a  few  steps,  I  felt  her  totter;  she  had  grown  pale; 
her  eyes  were  closed.  I  threw  my  arm  about  her,  in 
order  to  support  her  and  turned  her  face  toward  the 
north;  the  cold  air  striking  her  revived  her,  and  she 
[98] 


GERFAUT 

soon  opened  her  beautiful  brown  eyes.  I  do  not  know 
what  sudden  tenderness  seized  me  then,  but  I  pressed 
this  lovely  creature  within  my  grasp,  and  she  remained 
in  my  arms  unresistingly.  I  felt  that  I  loved  her 
already. 

"She  remained  for  a  moment  with  her  languishing 
eyes  fixed  on  mine,  making  no  response,  perhaps  not 
even  having  heard  me.  The  shouts  of  her  party, 
some  of  whom  were  coming  toward  her,  broke  the 
charm.  With  a  rapid  movement,  she  withdrew  from 
my  embrace,  and  I  offered  her  my  arm,  just  as  if  we 
were  in  a  drawing-room  and  I  was  about  to  lead  her 
out  for  a  dance;  she  took  it,  but  I  did  not  feel  elated 
at  this,  for  I  could  feel  her  knees  waver  at  every  step. 
The  smallest  crevasse,  which  she  had  crossed  before 
with  such  agility,  now  inspired  her  with  a  horror  which 
I  could  divine  by  the  trembling  of  her  arm  within 
mine.  I  was  obliged  to  make  numerous  detours  in 
order  to  avoid  them,  and  thus  prolonged  the  distance, 
for  which  I  was  not  sorry.  Did  I  not  know  that  when 
we  reached  our  destination,  the  world,  that  other  sea 
of  ice,  was  going  to  take  her  away  from  me,  perhaps 
forever?  We  walked  silently,  occasionally  making  a 
few  trivial  remarks,  both  deeply  embarrassed.  When 
we  reached  the  persons  who  awaited  her,  I  said,  as  she 
disengaged  my  arm: 

"  'You  dropped  my  flowers,  Madame;  will  it  be  the 
same  with  your  memory  of  me  ? ' 

"She  looked  at  me,  but  made  no  reply.  I  loved 
this  silence.  I  bowed  politely  to  her  and  returned  to 
the  pavilion,  while  she  related  her  adventure  to  her 
[99] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

friends;  but  I  am  quite  sure  she  did  not  tell  all  the 
details. 

"The  register  for  travellers  who  visit  the  Mon tan- 
vert  is  a  mixture  of  all  nationalities,  and  no  tourist 
refuses  his  tribute;  modest  ones  write  down  their 
names  only.  I  hoped  in  this  way  to  learn  the  name 
of  the  young  traveller,  and  I  was  not  disappointed. 
I  soon  saw  the  corpulent  Monsieur  de  Mauleon  busily 
writing  his  name  upon  the  register  in  characters  worthy 
of  Monsieur  Prudhomme;  the  other  members  of  the 
little  party  followed  his  example.  The  young  woman 
was  the  last  to  write  down  her  name.  I  took  the 
book  in  my  turn,  after  she  had  left,  and  with  apparent 
composure  I  read  upon  the  last  line  these  words,  writ- 
ten in  a  slender  handwriting: 

"Baroness  Clemence  de  Bergenheim." 


100  ] 


CHAPTER  VII 

GERFAUT  ASKS   A  FAVOR 

E  Baroness  de  Bergenheim ! "  ex- 
claimed Marillac.  "Ah!  I  under- 
stand it  all  now,  and  you  may  dis- 
pense with  the  remainder  of  your 
story.  So  this  was  the  reason  why, 
instead  of  visiting  the  banks  of  the 
Rhine  as  we  agreed,  you  made  me 
leave  the  route  at  Strasbourg  under 
the  pretext  of  walking  through  the  picturesque  sites 
of  the  Vosges.  It  was  unworthy  of  you  to  abuse  my 
confidence  as  a  friend.  And  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
led  by  the  nose  to  within  a  mile  of  Bergenheim!" 

"Peace,"  interrupted  Gerfaut;  "I  have  not  finished. 
Smoke  and  listen. 

"I  followed  Madame  de  Bergenheim  as  far  as  Ge- 
neva. She  had  gone  there  from  here  with  her  aunt, 
and  had  availed  herself  of  this  journey  to  visit  Mont 
Blanc.  She  left  for  her  home  the  next  day  without 
my  meeting  her  again;  but  I  preserved  her  name, 
and  it  was  not  unknown  to  me.  I  had  heard  it  spoken 
in  several  houses  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  and 
I  knew  that  I  should  certainly  have  an  opporutnity 
of  meeting  her  during  the  winter. 

"So  I  remained  at  Geneva,  yielding  to  a  sensation 
[101] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

as  new  as  it  was  strange.  It  first  acted  upon  my  brain 
whose  ice  I  felt  melting  away,  and  its  sources  ready  to 
gush  forth.  I  seized  my  pen  with  a  passion  not  un- 
like an  access  of  rage.  I  finished  in  four  days  two 
acts  of  a  drama  that  I  was  then  writing.  I  never  had 
written  anything  more  vigorous  or  more  highly  colored. 
My  unconstrained  genius  throbbed  in  my  arteries,  ran 
through  my  blood,  and  bubbled  over  as  if  it  wished 
to  burst  forth.  My  hand  could  not  keep  even  with 
the  course  of  my  imagination;  I  was  obliged  to  write 
in  hieroglyphics. 

"Adieu  to  the  empty  reveries  brought  about  by 
spleen,  and  to  the  meditations  a  la  Werther!  The  sky 
was  blue,  the  air  pure,  life  delightful — my  talent  was 
not  dead. 

"After  this  first  effort,  I  slackened  a  little!  Madame 
de  Bergenheim's  face,  which  I  had  seen  but  dimly 
during  this  short  time,  returned  to  me  in  a  less  va- 
porous form;  I  took  extreme  delight  in  calling  to  mind 
the  slightest  circumstances  of  our  meeting,  the  small- 
est details  of  her  features,  her  toilette,  her  manner  of 
walking  and  carrying  her  head.  What  had  impressed 
me  most  was  the  extreme  softness  of  her  dark  eyes, 
the  almost  childish  tone  of  her  voice,  a  vague  odor  of 
heliotrope  with  which  her  hair  was  perfumed;  also 
the  touch  of  her  hand  upon  my  arm.  I  sometimes 
caught  myself  embracing  myself  in  order  to  feel  this 
last  sensation  again,  and  then  I  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  my  thoughts,  which  were  worthy  of  a  fifteen- 
year-old  lover. 

"I  had  felt  so  convinced  of  my  powerlessness  to  love, 

[102] 


GERFAUT 

that  the  thought  of  a  serious  passion  did  not  at  first 
enter  my  mind.  However,  a  remembrance  of  my 
beautiful  traveller  pervaded  my  thoughts  more  and 
more,  and  threatened  to  usurp  the  place  of  everything 
else.  I  then  subjected  myself  to  a  rigid  analysis;  I 
sought  for  the  exact  location  of  this  sentiment  whose 
involuntary  yoke  I  already  felt;  I  persuaded  myself, 
for  some  time  yet,  that  it  was  only  the  transient  excite- 
ment of  my  brain,  one  of  those  fevers  of  imagination 
whose  fleeting  titillations  I  had  felt  more  than  once. 

"But  I  realized  that  the  evil,  or  the  good — for  why 
call  love  an  evil? — had  penetrated  into  the  most  re- 
mote regions  of  my  being,  and  I  realized  the  energy  of 
my  struggle  like  a  person  entombed  who  tries  to  ex- 
tricate himself.  From  the  ashes  of  this  volcano  which 
I  had  believed  to  be  extinct,  a  flower  had  suddenly 
blossomed,  perfumed  with  the  most  fragrant  of  odors 
and  decked  with  the  most  charming  colors.  Artless 
enthusiasm,  faith  in  love,  all  the  brilliant  array  of  the 
fresh  illusions  of  my  youth  returned,  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment, to  greet  this  new  bloom  of  my  life;  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  had  been  created  a  second  time,  since  I 
was  aided  by  intelligence  and  understood  its  mysteries 
while  tasting  of  its  delights.  My  past,  in  the  presence 
of  this  regeneration,  was  nothing  more  than  a  shadow 
at  the  bottom  of  an  abyss.  I  turned  toward  the  future 
with  the  faith  of  a  Mussulman  who  kneels  with  his 
face  toward  the  East — I  loved! 

"I  returned  to  Paris,  and  applied  to  my  friend  Ca- 
sorans,  who  knows  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  from 
Dan  to  Beersheba. 

[103] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"  'Madame  de  Bergenheim,'  he  said  to  me,  'is  a 
very  popular  society  woman,  not  very  pretty,  perhaps, 
rather  clever,  though,  and  very  amiable.  She  is  one 
of  our  coquettes  of  the  old  nobility,  and  with  her 
twenty-four  carats'  virtue  she  always  has  two  sufferers 
attached  to  her  chariot,  and  a  third  on  the  waiting- 
list,  and  yet  it  is  impossible  for  one  to  find  a  word  to 
say  against  her  behavior.  Just  at  this  moment,  Mau- 
leon  and  d'Arzenac  compose  the  team;  I  do  not  know 
who  is  on  the  waiting- list.  She  will  probably  spend 
the  winter  here  with  her  aunt,  Mademoiselle  de  Co- 
randeuil,  one  of  the  hatefullest  old  women  on  the  Rue 
de  Varennes.  The  husband  is  a  good  fellow  who, 
since  the  July  revolution,  has  lived  upon  his  estates, 
caring  for  his  forests  and  killing  wild  boars  with- 
out troubling  himself  much  about  his  wife. ' 

"He  then  told  me  which  houses  these  ladies  fre- 
quented, and  left  me,  saying  with  a  knowing  air: 

"  'Take  care,  if  you  intend  to  try  the  power  of  your 
seductions  upon  the  little  Baroness;  whoever  meddles 
with  her  smarts  for  it!' 

"This  information  from  a  viper  like  Casorans  satis- 
fied me  in  every  way.  Evidently  the  place  was  not 
taken;  impregnable,  that  was  another  thing. 

"Before  Madame  de  Bergenheim's  return,  I  began 
to  show  myself  assiduously  at  the  houses  of  which  my 
friend  had  spoken.  My  position  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  is  peculiar,  but  good,  according  to  my 
opinion.  I  have  enough  family  ties  to  be  sustained 
by  several  should  I  be  attacked  by  many,  and  this 
is  the  essential  point.  It  is  true  that,  thanks  to  my 
[104] 


GERFAUT 

works,  I  am  regarded  as  an  atheist  and  a  Jacobin; 
aside  from  these  two  little  defects,  they  think  well 
enough  of  me.  Besides,  it  is  a  notorious  fact  that  I 
have  rejected  several  offers  from  the  present  govern- 
ment, and  refused  last  year  the  croix  d'honneur;  this 
makes  amends  and  washes  away  half  my  sins.  Finally, 
I  have  the  reputation  of  having  a  certain  knowledge 
of  heraldry,  which  I  owe  to  my  uncle,  a  confirmed 
hunter  after  genealogical  claims.  This  gains  me  a 
respect  which  makes  me  laugh  sometimes,  when  I 
see  people  who  detest  me  greet  me  as  cordially  as  the 
Cure  of  Saint-Eustache  greeted  Bayle,  for  fear  that 
I  might  destroy  their  favorite  saint.  However,  in  this 
society,  I  am  no  longer  Gerfaut  of  the  Porte-Saint- 
Martin,  but  I  am  the  Vicomte  de  Gerfaut.  Perhaps, 
with  your  bourgeois  ideas,  you  do  not  understand — 

"  Bourgeois ! "  exclaimed  Marillac,  bounding  from  his 
seat,  "what  are  you  talking  about?  Do  you  wish  that 
we  should  cut  each  other's  throats  before  breakfast 
to-morrow?  Bourgeois!  why  not  grocer?  I  am  an 
artist — don't  you  know  that  by  this  time?" 

"Don't  get  angry,  my  dear  fellow;  I  meant  to  say 
that  in  certain  places  the  title  of  a  Vicomte  has  still  a 
more  powerful  attraction  than  you,  with  your  artistic 
but  plebeian  ideas,  would  suppose  in  this  year  of  our 
Lord  1832." 

"Well  and  good.    I  accept  your  apology." 

"A  vicomte's  title  is  a  recommendation  in  the  eyes 
of  people  who  still  cling  to  the  baubles  of  nobility, 
and  all  women  are  of  this  class.  There  is  something, 
I  know  not  what,  delicate  and  knightly  in  this  title, 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

which  suits  a  youngish  bachelor.  Duke  above  all  titles 
is  the  one  that  sounds  the  best.  Moliere  and  Regnard 
have  done  great  harm  to  the  title  of  marquis.  Count 
is  terribly  bourgeois,  thanks  to  the  senators  of  the 
empire.  As  to  a  Baron,  unless  he  is  called  Mont- 
morency  or  Beaufremont,  it  is  the  lowest  grade  of 
nobility;  vicomte,  on  the  contrary,  is  above  reproach; 
it  exhales  a  mixed  odor  of  the  old  regime  and  young 
France;  then,  don't  you  know,  our  Chateaubriand 
was  a  vicomte. 

"I  departed  from  my  subject  in  speaking  of  nobility. 
I  accidentally  turned  over  one  day  to  the  article  upon 
my  family  in  the  Dictionnaire  de  Saint- Allah;  I  found 
that  one  of  my  ancestors,  Christophe  de  Gerfaut, 
married,  in  1569,  a  Mademoiselle  Yolande  de  Cor- 
andeuil. 

"  'O  my  ancestor!  O  my  ancestress!'  I  exclaimed, 
'you  had  strange  baptismal  names;  but  no  matter,  I 
thank  you.  You  are  going  to  serve  me  as  a  grappling 
iron ;  I  shall  be  very  unskilful  if  at  the  very  first  meet- 
ing the  old  aunt  escapes  Christophe.' 

"A  few  days  later  I  went  to  the  Marquise  de  Cha- 
meillan's,  one  of  the  most  exclusive  houses  in  the 
noble  Faubourg.  When  I  enter  her  drawing-room,  I 
usually  cause  the  same  sensation  that  Beelzebub  would 
doubtless  produce  should  he  put  his  foot  into  one  of 
the  drawing-rooms  in  Paradise.  That  evening,  when 
I  was  announced,  I  saw  a  certain  undulation  of  heads 
in  a  group  of  young  women  who  were  whispering  to 
one  another;  many  curious  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
me,  and  among  these  beautiful  eyes  were  two  more 
[106] 


GERFAUT 

beautiful  than  all  the  others:  they  were  those  of  my 
bewitching  traveller. 

"I  exchanged  a  rapid  glance  with  her,  one  only; 
after  paying  my  respects  to  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
I  mingled  with  a  crowd  of  men,  and  entered  into  con- 
versation with  an  old  peer  upon  some  political  ques- 
tion, avoiding  to  look  again  toward  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim. 

"A  moment  later,  Madame  de  Chameillan  came  to 
ask  the  peer  to  play  whist;  he  excused  himself,  he 
could  not  remain  late. 

"  'I  dare  not  ask  you  to  play  with  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil,'  said  she,  turning  toward  me;  'besides,  I 
understand  too  well  that  it  is  to  my  interest  and  the 
pleasure  of  these  ladies,  not  to  exile  you  to  a  whist 
table.' 

"I  took  the  card  which  she  half  offered  me  with  an 
eagerness  which  might  have  made  her  suppose  that 
I  had  become  a  confirmed  whist  expert  during  my 
voyage. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  certainly  was  the  ugly, 
crabbed  creature  that  Casorans  had  described;  but 
had  she  been  as  frightful  as  the  witches  in  Macbeth 
I  was  determined  to  make  her  conquest.  So  I  began 
playing  with  unusual  attention.  I  was  her  partner, 
and  I  knew  from  experience  the  profound  horror 
which  the  loss  of  money  inspires  in  old  women.  Thank 
heaven,  we  won!  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  who 
has  an  income  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  was 
not  at  all  indifferent  to  the  gain  of  two  or  three  louis. 
She,  therefore,  with  an  almost  gracious  air,  congratu- 
[107] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

lated  me,  as  we  left  the  table,  upon  my  manner  of 
playing. 

"  'I  would  willingly  contract  an  alliance,  offensive 
and  defensive  with  you,'  said  she  to  me. 

"  'The  alliance  is  already  contracted,  Mademoiselle,' 
said  I,  seizing  the  opportunity. 

"  'How  is  that,  Monsieur?'  she  replied,  raising  her 
head  with  a  dignified  air,  as  if  she  were  getting  ready 
to  rebuke  some  impertinent  speech. 

"I  also  gravely  straightened  up  and  gave  a  feudal 
look  to  my  face. 

"  'Mademoiselle,  I  have  the  honor  of  belonging  to 
your  family,  a  little  distantly,  to  be  sure;  that  is  what 
makes  me  speak  of  an  alliance  between  us  as  a  thing 
already  concluded.  One  of  my  ancestors,  Christophe 
de  Gerfaut,  married  Mademoiselle  Yolande  de  Coran- 
deuil,  one  of  your  great-grandaunts,  in  1569.' 

"  'Yolande  is  really  a  family  name,'  replied  the  old 
lady,  with  the  most  affable  smile  that  her  face  would 
admit ;  '  I  bear  it  myself.  The  Corandeuils,  Monsieur, 
never  have  denied  their  alliances,  and  it  is  a  pleasure 
for  me  to  recognize  my  relationship  with  such  a  man 
as  you.  We  address  by  the  title  of  cousin  relatives 
as  far  back  as  1300.' 

"  'I  am  nearer  related  to  you  by  three  centuries,' 
I  replied,  in  my  most  insinuating  voice;  'may  I  hope 
that  this  good  fortune  will  authorize  me  to  pay  my 
respects  to  you?' 

"Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  replied  to  my  tartujerie 
by  granting  me  permission  to  call  upon  her.  My  at- 
tention was  not  so  much  absorbed  in  our  conversation 
[108] 


GERFAUT 

that  I  did  not  see  in  a  mirror,  during  this  time,  the 
interest  with  which  Madame  de  Bergenheim  watched 
my  conversation  with  her  aunt;  but  I  was  careful  not 
to  turn  around,  and  I  let  her  take  her  departure  with- 
out giving  her  a  second  glance. 

"Three  days  later,  I  made  my  first  call.  Madame 
de  Bergenheim  received  my  greeting  like  a  woman 
who  had  been  warned  and  was,  therefore,  prepared. 
We  exchanged  only  one  rapid,  earnest  glance,  that 
was  all.  Availing  myself  of  the  presence  of  other 
callers,  numerous  enough  to  assure  each  one  his  lib- 
erty, I  began  to  observe,  with  a  practised  eye,  the  field 
whereon  I  had  just  taken  my  position. 

"Before  the  end  of  the  evening,  I  recognized  the 
correctness  of  Casorans's  information.  Among  all  the 
gentlemen  present  I  found  only  two  professed  ad- 
mirers: Monsieur  de  Maule*on,  whose  insignificance 
was  notorious,  and  Monsieur  d'Arzenac,  who  appeared 
at  first  glance  as  if  he  might  be  more  to  be  feared. 
D'Arzenac,  thanks  to  an  income  of  ten  thousand  livres, 
beside  being  a  man  of  rank,  occupies  also  one  of  the 
finest  positions  that  one  could  desire;  he  is  not  un- 
worthy of  his  name  and  his  fortune.  Irreproachable 
in  morals  as  in  manners;  sufficiently  well  informed; 
of  an  exquisite  but  reserved  politeness;  understanding 
perfectly  the  ground  that  he  is  walking  upon;  making 
also  more  advances  than  is  customary  among  the 
pachas  of  modern  France,  he  was,  without  doubt, 
the  flower  of  the  flock  in  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil's  drawing-room.  In  spite  of  all  these  advan- 
tages, an  attentive  examination  showed  me  that  his 
[109] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

passion  was  hopeless.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  re- 
ceived his  attentions  very  kindly — too  kindly.  She 
usually  listened  to  him  with  a  smile  in  which  one 
could  read  gratitude  for  the  devotion  he  lavished  up- 
on her.  She  willingly  accepted  him  as  her  favorite 
partner  in  the  galop,  which  he  danced  to  perfection. 
His  success  stopped  there. 

"At  the  end  of  several  days,  the  ground  having  been 
carefully  explored  and  the  admirers,  dangerous  and 
otherwise,  having  been  passed  in  review,  one  after  an- 
other, I  felt  convinced  that  Clemence  loved  nobody. 

"  'She  shall  love  me,'  said  I,  on  the  day  I  reached 
this  conclusion.  In  order  to  formulate  in  a  decisive 
manner  the  accomplishment  of  my  desire,  I  relied 
upon  the  following  propositions,  which  are  to  me  ar- 
ticles of  faith. 

"No  woman  is  unattainable,  except  when  she  loves 
another.  Thus,  a  woman  who  does  not  love,  and 
who  has  resisted  nine  admirers,  will  yield  to  the  tenth. 
The  only  question  for  me  was  to  be  the  tenth.  Here 
began  the  problem  to  be  solved. 

"Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  been  married  only 
three  years;  her  husband,  who  was  good-looking  and 
young,  passed  for  a  model  husband;  if  these  latter 
considerations  were  of  little  importance,  the  first  was 
of  great  weight.  According  to  all  probability,  it  was 
too  soon  for  any  serious  attack.  Without  being  beau- 
tiful, she  pleased  much  and  many;  a  second  obstacle, 
since  sensibility  in  women  is  almost  always  developed 
in  inverse  ratio  to  their  success.  She  had  brains; 
she  was  wonderfully  aristocratic  in  all  her  tastes, 
[no] 


GERFAUT 

Last,  being  very  much  the  fashion,  sought  after  and 
envied,  she  was  under  the  special  surveillance  of  pious 
persons,  old  maids,  retired  beauties  in  one  word,  all 
that  feminine  mounted  police,  whose  eyes,  ears,  and 
mouths  seem  to  have  assumed  the  express  mission 
of  annoying  sensitive  hearts  while  watching  over  the 
preservation  of  good  morals. 

"This  mass  of  difficulties,  none  of  which  escaped 
me,  traced  as  many  lines  upon  my  forehead  as  if  I 
had  been  commanded  to  solve  at  once  all  the  prop- 
ositions in  Euclid.  She  shall  love  me!  these  words 
flashed  unceasingly  before  my  eyes ;  but  the  means  to 
attain  this  end?  No  satisfactory  plan  came  to  me. 
Women  are  so  capricious,  deep,  and  unfathomable! 
It  is,  with  them,  the  thing  soonest  done  which  is  soon- 
est ended!  A  false  step,  the  least  awkwardness,  a 
want  of  intelligence,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  too  soon  or 
too  late!  One  thing  only  was  evident:  it  needed  a 
grand  display  of  attractions,  a  complete  plan  of  gallant 
strategy;  but,  then,  what  more? 

"That  earthly  paradise  of  the  Montanvert  was  far 
from  us,  where  I  had  been  able  in  less  time  than  it 
would  take  to  walk  over  a  quadrille,  to  expose  her  to 
death,  to  save  her  afterward,  and  finally  to  say  to  her: 
'I  love  you!'  Passion  in  drawing-rooms  is  not  al- 
lowed those  free,  dramatic  ways;  flowers  fade  in  the 
candle-light;  the  oppressive  atmosphere  of  balls  and 
fetes  stifles  the  heart,  so  ready  to  dilate  in  pure  moun- 
tain air.  The  unexpected  and  irresistible  influence  of 
the  glacier  would  have  been  improper  and  foolish  in 
Paris.  There,  an  artless  sympathy,  stronger  than 
[in] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

social  conventions,  had  drawn  us  to  each  other — 
Octave  and  Clemence.  Here,  she  was  the  Baroness 
de  Bergenheim,  and  I  the  Vicomte  de  Gerfaut.  I 
must  from  necessity  enter  the  ordinary  route,  begin 
the  romance  at  the  first  page,  without  knowing  how 
to  connect  the  prologue  with  it. 

"What  should  be  my  plan  of  campaign? 

"Should  I  pose  as  an  agreeable  man,  and  try  to  cap- 
tivate her  attention  and  good  graces  by  the  minute 
attentions  and  delicate  flattery  which  constitute  what 
is  classically  called  paying  court?  But  D'Arzenac  had 
seized  this  role,  and  rilled  it  in  such  a  superior  way 
that  all  competition  would  be  unsuccessful.  I  saw 
where  this  had  led  him.  It  needed,  in  order  to  in- 
flame this  heart,  a  more  active  spark  than  foppish 
gallantry;  the  latter  flatters  the  vanity  without  reach- 
ing the  heart. 

"There  was  the  passionate  method — ardent,  burn- 
ing, fierce  love.  There  are  some  women  upon  whom 
convulsive  sighs  drawn  from  the  depths  of  the  stomach, 
eyebrows  frowning  in  a  fantastic  manner,  and  eyes 
in  which  only  the  whites  are  to  be  seen  and  which  seem 
to  say:  'Love  me,  or  I  will  kill  you!'  produce  a  pro- 
digious effect.  I  had  myself  felt  the  power  of  this 
fascination  while  using  it  one  day  upon  a  soft-hearted 
blond  creature  who  thought  it  delightful  to  have  a 
Blue-Beard  for  a  lover.  But  the  drooping  corners  of 
Cle'mence's  mouth  showed  at  times  an  ironical  ex- 
pression which  would  have  cooled  down  even  an 
Othello's  outbursts. 

"  'She  has  brains,  and  she  knows  it,'  said  I  to  my- 
[112] 


GERFAUT 

self;  'shall  I  attack  her  in  that  direction?'  Women 
rather  like  such  a  little  war  of  words;  it  gives  them 
an  opportunity  for  displaying  a  mine  of  pretty  ex- 
pressions, piquant  pouts,  fresh  bursts  of  laughter, 
graceful  peculiarities  of  which  they  well  know  the 
effect.  Should  I  be  the  Benedict  to  this  Beatrice? 
But  this  by-play  would  hardly  fill  the  prologue,  and 
I  very  much  wished  to  reach  the  epilogue. 

"I  passed  in  review  the  different  routes  that  a  lover 
might  take  to  reach  his  end;  I  recapitulated  every 
one  of  the  more  or  less  infallible  methods  of  conquer- 
ing female  hearts;  in  a  word,  I  went  over  my  tactics 
like  a  lieutenant  about  to  drill  a  battalion  of  recruits. 
When  I  had  ended  I  had  made  no  farther  advance 
than  before. 

"  'To  the  devil  with  systems!'  exclaimed  I;  'I  will 
not  be  so  foolish  as  wilfully  to  adopt  the  role  of  roue 
when  I  feel  called  upon  to  play  the  plain  role  of  true 
lover.  Let  those  who  like  play  the  part  of  Lovelace! 
As  for  myself,  I  will  love;  upon  the  whole,  that  is 
what  pleases  best.'  And  I  jumped  headlong  into  the 
torrent  without  troubling  myself  as  to  the  place  of 
landing. 

"While  I  was  thus  scheming  my  attack,  Madame  de 
Bergenheim  was  upon  her  guard  and  had  prepared 
her  means  of  defence.  Puzzled  by  my  reserve,  which 
was  in  singular  contrast  with  my  almost  extravagant 
conduct  at  our  first  meeting,  her  woman's  intelligence 
had  surmised,  on  my  part,  a  plan  which  she  proposed 
to  baffle.  I  was  partly  found  out,  but  I  knew  it  and 
thus  kept  the  advantage. 

8  [113] 


(CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  Baroness's  clever 
coquetry,  when  I  decided  to  follow  the  inspirations 
of  my  heart,  instead  of  choosing  selfish  motives  as  my 
guide.  Every  time  I  took  her  hand  when  dancing 
with  her,  I  expected  to  feel  a  little  claw  ready  to 
pierce  the  cold  glove.  But,  while  waiting  for  the 
scratch,  it  was  a  very  soft,  velvety  little  hand  that 
was  given  me;  and  I,  who  willingly  lent  myself  to  her 
deception,  did  not  feel  very  much  duped.  It  was 
evident  that  the  sort  of  halo  which  my  merited  or  un- 
merited reputation  had  thrown  over  me  had  made  me 
appear  to  her  as  a  conquest  of  some  value,  a  victim 
upon  whom  one  could  lavish  just  enough  flowers  in 
order  to  bring  him  to  the  sacrificial  altar.  In  order  to 
wind  the  first  chain  around  my  neck,  Mauleon  and 
D'Arzenac,  e  tutti  quanti,  were  sacrificed  for  me  without 
my  soliciting,  even  by  a  glance,  this  general  disband- 
ment.  I  could  interpret  this  discharge.  I  saw  that 
the  fair  one  wished  to  concentrate  all  her  seductions 
against  me,  so  as  to  leave  me  no  means  of  escape; 
people  neglect  the  hares  to  hunt  for  the  deer.  You 
must  excuse  my  conceit. 

"This  conduct  wounded  me  at  first,  but  I  afterward 
forgave  her,  when  a  more  careful  examination  taught 
me  to  know  this  adorable  woman's  character.  Co- 
quetry was  with  her  not  a  vice  of  the  heart  or  of  an 
unscrupulous  mind;  having  nothing  better  to  do,  she 
enjoyed  it  as  a  legitimate  pastime,  without  giving  it 
any  importance  or  feeling  any  scruples.  Like  all 
women,  she  liked  to  please;  her  success  was  sweet 
to  her  vanity;  perhaps  flattery  turned  her  head  at 
["4] 


GERFAUT 

times,  but  in  the  midst  of  this  tumult  her  heart  re- 
mained in  perfect  peace.  She  found  so  little  danger 
for  herself  in  the  game  she  played  that  it  did  not  seem 
to  her  that  it  could  be  very  serious  for  others.  Genuine 
love  is  not  common  enough  in  Parisian  parlors  for  a 
pretty  woman  to  conceive  any  great  remorse  at  pleas- 
ing without  loving. 

"Madame  de  Bergenheim  was  thus,  ingenuously, 
unsuspectingly,  a  matchless  coquette.  Never  having 
loved,  not  even  her  husband,  she  looked  upon  her 
little  intriguing  as  one  of  the  rights  earned  on  the 
day  of  her  marriage,  the  same  as  her  diamonds  and 
cashmeres.  There  was  something  touching  in  the 
sound  of  her  voice  and  in  her  large,  innocent  eyes 
which  she  sometimes  allowed  to  rest  upon  mine,  with- 
out thinking  to  turn  them  away,  and  which  said,  'I 
have  never  loved.'  As  for  myself,  I  believed  it  all; 
one  is  so  happy  to  believe! 

"Far  from  being  annoyed  at  the  trap  she  laid  for 
me,  I,  on  the  contrary,  ran  my  head  into  it  and  pre- 
sented my  neck  to  the  yoke  with  a  docility  which 
must  have  amused  her,  I  think;  but  I  hoped  not  to 
bear  it  alone.  A  coquette  who  coolly  flaunts  her  tri- 
umphs to  the  world  resembles  those  master-swimmers 
who,  while  spectators  are  admiring  the  grace  of  their 
poses,  are  struck  by  an  unexpected  current;  the  per- 
former is  sometimes  swept  away  and  drowned  without 
his  elegant  strokes  being  of  much  service  to  him. 
Throw  Celimene  into  the  current  of  genuine  passion 
—I  do  not  mean  the  brutality  of  Alceste — I  will  wager 
that  coquetry  will  be  swept  away  by  love.  I  had  such 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

faith  in  mine  that  I  thought  to  be  able  to  fix  the 
moment  when  I  should  call  myself  victorious  and 
sure  of  being  obeyed. 

"You  know  that  sadness  and  ennui  were  considered 
etiquette  last  winter,  in  a  certain  society,  which  was 
thrown  into  mourning  by  the  July  revolution.  Re- 
unions were  very  few;  there  were  no  balls  or  soirees; 
dancing  in  drawing-rooms  to  the  piano  was  hardly 
permissible,  even  with  intimate  friends.  When  once  I 
was  installed  in  Mademoiselle  de  CorandeuiPs  draw- 
ing-room upon  a  friendly  footing,  this  cessation  of 
worldly  festivities  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  see  Cle- 
mence  in  a  rather  intimate  way. 

"It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  now  all  the 
thousand  and  one  little  incidents  which  compose  the 
history  of  all  passions.  Profiting  by  her  coquetry, 
which  made  her  receive  me  kindly  in  order  to  make 
me  expiate  my  success  afterward,  my  love  for  her 
was  soon  an  understood  thing  between  us;  she  lis- 
tened to  me  in  a  mocking  way,  but  did  not  dispute 
my  right  to  speak.  She  ended  by  receiving  my  letters, 
after  being  constrained  to  do  so  through  a  course  of 
strategies  in  which,  truly,  I  showed  incredible  inven- 
tion. I  was  listened  to  and  she  read  my  letters;  I 
asked  for  nothing  more. 

"My  love,  from  the  first,  had  been  her  secret  as  well 
as  mine;  but  every  day  I  made  to  sparkle  some  un- 
expected facet  of  this  prism  of  a  thousand  colors. 
Even  after  telling  her  a  hundred  times  how  much  I 
adored  her,  my  love  still  had  for  her  the  attraction  of 
the  unknown.  I  really  had  something  inexhaustible 
[116] 


GERFAUT 

in  my  heart,  and  I  was  sure,  in  the  end,  to  intoxicate 
her  with  this  philtre,  which  I  constantly  poured  out 
and  which  she  drank,  while  making  sport  of  it  like  a 
child. 

"One  day  I  found  her  thoughtful  and  silent.  She 
did  not  reply  to  me  with  her  usual  sprightliness  dur- 
ing the  few  moments  that  I  was  able  to  talk  with  her; 
the  expression  of  her  eyes  had  changed;  there  was 
something  deeper  and  less  glowing  in  their  depths; 
instead  of  dazzling  me  by  their  excessive  splendor,  as 
had  often  happened  to  me  before,  they  seemed  to 
soften  as  they  rested  on  mine;  she  kept  her  eyelids 
a  trifle  lowered,  as  if  she  were  tired  of  being  gazed  at 
by  me.  Her  voice,  as  she  spoke,  had  a  low,  soft 
sound,  a  sort  of  inexplicable  something  which  came 
from  the  very  depths  of  her  soul.  She  never  had 
looked  at  me  with  that  glance  or  spoken  to  me  in 
that  tone  before.  Upon  that  day  I  knew  that  she 
loved  me. 

"I  returned  to  my  home  unutterably  happy,  for  I 
loved  this  woman  with  a  love  of  which  I  believed  my- 
self incapable. 

"When  I  met  Madame  de  Bergenheim  again,  I 
found  her  completely  changed  toward  me;  an  icy 
gravity,  an  impassible  calm,  an  ironical  and  disdain- 
ful haughtiness  had  taken  the  place  of  the  delicious 
abandon  of  her  former  bearing.  In  spite  of  my  strong 
determination  to  allow  myself  to  love  with  the  utmost 
candor,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  return  to  that 
happy  age  when  the  frowning  brows  of  the  beautiful 
idol  to  whom  we  paid  court  inspired  us  with  the  re 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

solve  to  drown  ourselves.  I  could  not  isolate  myself 
from  my  past  experiences.  My  heart  was  rejuvenated, 
but  my  head  remained  old.  I  was,  therefore,  not  in 
the  least  discouraged  by  this  change  of  humor,  and 
the  fit  of  anger  which  it  portended. 

"  'Now,'  said  I  to  myself,  'there  is  an  end  to  co- 
quetry, it  is  beaten  on  all  sides;  it  is  gone,  never  to 
return.  She  has  seen  that  the  affair  is  a  little  too 
deep  for  that,  and  the  field  not  tenable.  She  will 
erect  barriers  in  order  to  defend  herself  and  will  no 
longer  attack.'  Thus  we  pass  from  the  period  of 
amiable  smiles,  sweet  glances,  and  half-avowals  to 
that  of  severity  and  prudery,  while  waiting  for  the 
remorse  and  despair  of  the  denouement.  I  am  sure 
that  at  this  time  she  called  to  her  help  all  her  powers 
of  resistance.  From  that  day  she  would  retreat  be- 
hind the  line  of  duty,  conjugal  fidelity,  honor,  and 
all  the  other  fine  sentiments  which  would  need  num- 
bering after  the  fashion  of  Homer.  At  the  first  attack, 
all  this  household  battalion  would  make  a  furious 
sortie;  should  I  succeed  in  overthrowing  them  and 
take  up  my  quarters  in  the  trenches,  there  would  then 
be  a  gathering  of  the  reserve  force,  and  boiling  oil  or 
tar  would  rain  upon  my  head,  representing  virtue, 
religion,  heaven,  and  hell." 

"A  sort  of  conjugal  earthquake,"  interrupted  Mar- 
iliac. 

"I  calculated  the  strength  and  approximate  dura- 
tion of  these  means  of  defence.  The  whole  thing  ap- 
peared to  me  only  a  question  of  time,  a  few  days  or 
weeks  at  most — so  long  on  the  husband's  account, 
[118] 


GERFAUT 

so  long  on  the  father  confessor's  account.  I  deserved 
to  be  boxed  on  the  ears  for  my  presumption;  I  was. 

"A  combat  is  necessary  in  order  to  secure  a  victory. 
In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  and  ruses,  it  was  not  possible 
for  me  to  fight  this  combat;  I  did  not  succeed,  in 
spite  of  all  my  challenges,  in  shattering,  as  I  expected, 
this  virtuous  conjugal  fortress.  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim  still  persisted  in  her  systematic  reserve,  with  in- 
credible prudence  and  skill.  During  the  remainder 
of  the  winter,  I  did  not  find  more  than  one  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  her  alone.  As  I  was  a  permanent  fixture 
every  evening  in  her  aunt's  parlors,  she  entered  them 
only  when  other  guests  were  there.  She  never  went 
out  alone,  and  in  every  place  where  I  was  likely  to 
meet  her  I  was  sure  to  find  a  triple  rampart  of  women 
erected  between  us,  through  which  it  was  impossible 
to  address  one  word  to  her.  In  short,  I  was  encoun- 
tering a  desperate  resistance;  and,  yet,  she  loved  me! 
I  could  see  her  cheeks  gradually  grow  pale;  her  bril- 
liant eyes  often  had  dark  rings  beneath  them,  as  if 
sleep  had  deserted  her.  Sometimes,  when  she  thought 
she  was  not  observed,  I  surprised  them  fastened  upon 
me;  but  she  immediately  turned  them  away. 

"She  had  been  coquettish  and  indifferent;  she  was 
now  loving  but  virtuous. 

"Spring  came.  One  afternoon  I  went  to  call  upon 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  who  had  been  ill  for 
several  days.  I  was  received,  however,  probably 
through  some  mistake  of  the  servants.  As  I  entered 
the  room  I  saw  Madame  de  Bergenheim;  she  was 
alone  at  her  embroidery,  seated  upon  a  divan.  There 
[119] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

were  several  vases  of  flowers  in  the  windows,  whose 
curtains  only  permitted  a  soft,  mysterious  light  to 
penetrate  the  room.  The  perfume  from  the  flowers, 
the  sort  of  obscurity,  the  solitude  in  which  I  found 
her,  overcame  me  for  a  moment;  I  was  obliged  to 
pause  in  order  to  quiet  the  beating  of  my  heart. 

"She  arose  as  she  heard  my  name  announced; 
without  speaking  or  laying  down  her  work,  she  pointed 
to  a  chair  and  seated  herself;  but  instead  of  obeying 
her,  I  fell  upon  my  knees  before  her  and  seized  her 
hands,  which  she  did  not  withdraw.  It  had  been  im- 
possible for  me  to  say  another  word  to  her  before, 
save  'I  love  you!'  I  now  told  her  of  all  my  love. 
Oh!  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  words  penetrated  to  the  very 
depth  of  her  heart,  for  I  felt  her  hands  tremble  as  they 
left  mine.  She  listened  without  interrupting  me  or 
making  any  reply,  with  her  face  bent  toward  me  as  if 
she  were  breathing  the  perfume  of  a  flower.  When  I 
begged  her  to  answer  me,  when  I  implored  her  for  one 
single  word  from  her  heart,  she  withdrew  one  of  her 
hands,  imprisoned  within  mine,  and  placed  it  upon 
my  forehead,  pushing  back  my  head  with  a  gesture 
familiar  to  women.  She  gazed  at  me  thus  for  a  long 
time;  her  eyes  were  so  languishing  under  their  long 
lashes,  and  their  languor  was  so  penetrating,  that  I 
closed  mine,  not  being  able  to  endure  the  fascination 
of  this  glance  any  longer. 

"A  shiver  which  ran  over  her  and  which  went 
through  me  also,  like  an  electric  shock,  aroused  me. 
When  I  opened  my  eyes  I  saw  her  face  bathed  in 
tears.  She  drew  back  and  repelled  me.  I  arose  im- 

[120] 


GERFAUT 

petuously,  seated  myself  by  her  side  and  took  her  in 
my  arms. 

"  'Am  I  not  a  wretched,  unhappy  woman?'  said  she, 
and  fell  upon  my  breast,  sobbing. 

"  'Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Pontiviers,'  announced 
the  servant,  whom  I  would  willingly  have  assassinated, 
as  well  as  the  visiting  bore  who  followed  in  his  foot- 
steps. 

"I  never  saw  Madame  de  Bergenheim  in  Paris 
again.  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  Bordeaux  the  next  day, 
on  account  of  a  lawsuit  which  you  know  all  about. 
Upon  my  return,  at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  I  found 
she  had  left.  I  finally  learned  that  she  had  come  to 
this  place,  and  I  followed  her.  That  is  the  extent  of 
my  drama. 

"Now  you  know  very  well  that  I  have  not  related 
this  long  story  to  you  for  the  sole  pleasure  of  keeping 
you  awake  until  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  wanted 
to  explain  to  you  that  it  was  really  a  serious  thing 
for  me,  so  that  you  might  not  refuse  to  do  what-  I 
wish  to  ask  of  you." 

"I  think  I  understand  what  you  are  aiming  at," 
said  Marillac,  rather  pensively. 

"You  know  Bergenheim;  you  will  go  to  see  him 
to-morrow.  He  will  invite  you  to  pass  a  few  days 
with  him;  you  will  stay  to  dinner.  You  will  see  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil,  in  whose  presence  you  will 
speak  my  name  as  you  refer  to  our  journey;  and  before 
night,  my  venerable  cousin  of  1569  shall  send  me  an 
invitation  to  come  to  see  her." 

"I  would  rather  render  you  any  other  service  than 

[121] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

this,"  replied  the  artist,  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  in  long  strides.  "I  know  very  well  that  in  all 
circumstances  bachelors  should  triumph  over  hus- 
bands, but  that  does  not  prevent  my  conscience  from 
smiting  me.  You  know  that  I  saved  Bergenheim's 
life?" 

"Rest  assured  that  he  runs  no  very  great  danger 
at  present.  Nothing  will  result  from  this  step  save 
the  little  enjoyment  I  shall  take  in  annoying  the  cruel 
creature  who  defied  me  to-day.  Is  it  agreed?" 

"Since  you  insist  upon  it.  But  then,  when  our  visit 
is  ended,  shall  we  go  to  work  at  our  drama  or  upon 
The  Chaste  Suzannah  opera  in  three  acts  ?  For,  really, 
you  neglected  art  terribly  for  the  sake  of  your  love 
affairs." 

"The  Chaste  Suzannah  or  the  whole  Sacred  His- 
tory we  shall  put  into  vaudeville,  if  you  exact  it.  Un- 
til to-morrow,  then. " 

"Until  to-morrow." 


[122] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  LOVER'S  RUSE 

?T  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon; 
the  drawing-room  of  the  Chateau  de 
Bergenheim  presented  its  usual  as- 
pect and  occupants.  The  fire  on 
the  hearth,  lighted  during  the  morn- 
ing, was  slowly  dying,  and  a  beauti- 
ful autumn  sun  threw  its  rays  upon 
the  floor  through  the  half-opened 
windows.  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  stretched  on 
the  couch  before  the  fireplace  with  Constance  at  her 
feet,  was  reading,  according  to  her  habit,  the  news- 
papers which  had  just  arrived.  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim seemed  very  busily  occupied  with  a  piece  of 
tapestry  in  her  lap;  but  the  slow  manner  in  which 
her  needle  moved,  and  the  singular  mistakes  she  made, 
showed  that  her  mind  was  far  away  from  the  flowers 
she  was  working.  She  had  just  finished  a  beautiful 
dark  lily,  which  contrasted  strangely  with  its  neigh- 
bors, when  a  servant  entered. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "there  is  a  person  here  inquir- 
ing for  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Bergenheim." 

"Is  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim  not  at  home?"  asked 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil. 

"Monsieur  has  gone   to   ride   with   Mademoiselle 
Aline." 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Who  is  this  person?" 

"It  is  a  gentleman;  but  I  did  not  ask  his  name." 

"Let  him  enter." 

Clemence  arose  at  the  servant's  first  words  and 
threw  her  work  upon  a  chair,  making  a  movement  as 
if  to  leave  the  room;  but  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
she  resumed  her  seat  and  her  work,  apparently  in- 
different as  to  who  might  enter. 

"Monsieur  de  Marillac,"  announced  the  lackey,  as 
he  opened  the  door  a  second  time. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  darted  a  rapid  glance  at 
the  individual  who  presented  himself,  and  then 
breathed  freely  again. 

After  setting  to  rights  his  coiffure  a  la  Perinet,  the 
artist  entered  the  room,  throwing  back  his  shoulders. 
Tightly  buttoned  up  in  his  travelling  redingote,  and 
balancing  with  ease  a  small  gray  hat,  he  bowed  respect- 
fully to  the  two  ladies  and  then  assumed  a  pose  a  la 
Van  Dyke. 

Constance  was  so  frightened  at  the  sight  of  this  im- 
posing figure  that,  instead  of  jumping  at  the  new- 
comer's legs,  as  was  her  custom,  she  sheltered  herself 
under  her  mistress's  chair,  uttering  low  growls;  at 
first  glance  the  latter  shared,  if  not  the  terror,  at  least 
the  aversion  of  her  dog.  Among  her  numerous  an- 
tipathies, Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  detested  a 
beard.  This  was  a  common  sentiment  with  all  old 
ladies,  who  barely  tolerated  moustaches:  "Gentlemen 
did  not  wear  them  in  1780,"  they  would  say. 

Marillac's  eyes  turned  involuntarily  toward  the  por- 
traits, and  other  picturesque  details  of  a  room  which 
[124] 


GERFAUT 

was  worthy  the  attention  of  a  connoisseur;  but  he 
felt  that  the  moment  was  not  opportune  for  indulging 
in  artistic  contemplation,  and  that  he  must  leave  the 
dead  for  the  living. 

"Ladies,"  said  he,  "I  ought,  first  of  all,  to  ask  your 
pardon  for  thus  intruding  without  having  had  the 
honor  of  an  introduction.  I  hoped  to  find  here  Mon- 
sieur de  Bergenheim,  with  whom  I  am  on  very  inti- 
mate terms.  I  was  told  that  he  was  at  the  chateau. " 

"My  husband's  friends  do  not  need  to  be  presented 
at  his  house,"  said  Cle"mence;  "Monsieur  de  Ber- 
genheim probably  will  return  soon."  And  with  a 
gracious  gesture  she  motioned  the  visitor  to  a  seat. 

"Your  name  is  not  unknown  to  me,"  said  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil  in  her  turn,  having  succeeded 
in  calming  Constance's  agitation.  "I  remember  hav- 
ing heard  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim  mention  you 
often." 

"We  were  at  college  together,  although  I  am  a  few 
years  younger  than  Christian." 

"But,"  exclaimed  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  struck 
by  some  sudden  thought,  "there  is  more  than  a  col- 
lege friendship  between  you.  Are  you  not,  Monsieur, 
the  person  who  saved  my  husband's  life  in  1830?" 

Marillac  smiled,  bowed  his  head,  and  seated  him- 
self. Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  herself  could  not 
but  graciously  greet  her  nephew's  preserver,  had  he 
had  a  moustache  as  long  as  that  of  the  Shah  of  Persia, 
who  ties  his  in  a  bow  behind  his  neck. 

After  the  exchange  of  a  few  compliments,  Madame 
de  Bergenheim,  with  the  amiability  of  a  mistress  of 
[125] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

the  house  who  seeks  subjects  of  conversation  that 
may  show  off  to  best  advantage  the  persons  she  re- 
ceives, continued: 

"My  husband  does  not  like  to  talk  of  himself,  and 
never  has  told  us  the  details  of  this  adventure,  in 
which  he  ran  such  great  danger.  Will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  gratify  our  curiosity  on  this  point?" 

Marillac,  among  his  other  pretensions,  had  that  of 
being  able  to  relate  a  story  in  an  impressive  manner. 
These  words  were  as  pleasing  to  his  ears  as  the  re- 
quest for  a  song  is  to  a  lady  who  requires  urging, 
although  she  is  dying  to  sing. 

"Ladies,"  said  he,  crossing  one  leg  over  the  other 
and  leaning  upon  one  arm  of  his  chair,  "it  was  on  the 
twenty-eighth  of  July,  1830;  the  disastrous  decrees  had 
produced  their  effects;  the  volcano  which — 

"Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  if  I  interrupt  you,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  quickly;  "according  to 
my  opinion,  and  that  of  many  others,  the  royal  decrees 
you  speak  of  were  good  and  necessary.  The  only  mis- 
take of  Charles  Tenth  was  not  to  have  fifty  thousand 
men  around  Paris  to  force  their  acceptance.  I  am 
only  a  woman,  Monsieur,  but  if  I  had  had  under  my 
command  twenty  cannon  upon  the  quays,  and  as  many 
upon  the  boulevards,  I  assure  you  that  your  tricolored 
flag  never  should  have  floated  over  the  Tuileries." 

"Pitt  and  Cobourg!"  said  the  artist  between  his 
teeth,  as,  with  an  astonished  air,  he  gazed  at  the  old 
lady;  but  his  common-sense  told  him  that  republican- 
ism was  not  acceptable  within  this  castle.  Besides, 
remembering  the  mission  with  which  he  was  charged, 
[126] 


GERFAUT 

he  did  not  think  his  conscience  would  feel  much  hurt 
if  he  made  a  little  concession  of  principles  and  ma- 
noeuvred diplomatically. 

"Madame,"  replied  he,  "I  call  the  decrees  disas- 
trous when  I  think  of  their  result.  You  will  certainly 
admit  that  our  situation  to-day  ought  to  make  every- 
body regret  the  causes  which  brought  it  about. " 

"We  are  exactly  of  the  same  opinion  regarding  that 
point,  Monsieur,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil, 
resuming  her  serenity.  * 

"The  open  volcano  beneath  our  feet,"  continued 
Marillac,  who  still  stuck  to  his  point,  "warned  us  by 
deep  rumblings  of  the  hot  lava  which  was  about  to 
gush  forth.  The  excitement  of  the  people  was  in- 
tense. Several  engagements  with  the  soldiers  had 
already  taken  place  at  different  points.  I  stood  on  the 
Boulevard  Poissonniere,  where  I  had  just  taken  my 
luncheon,  and  was  gazing  with  an  artist's  eye  upon  the 
dramatic  scene  spread  out  before  me.  Men  with  bare 
arms  and  women  panting  with  excitement  were  tear- 
ing up  the  pavements  or  felling  trees.  An  omnibus 
had  just  been  upset;  the  rioters  added  cabriolets,  fur- 
niture, and  casks  to  it;  everything  became  means  of 
defence.  The  crashing  of  the  trees  as  they  fell,  the 
blows  of  crowbars  on  the  stones,  the  confused  roaring 
of  thousands  of  voices,  the  Marseillaise  sung  in  chorus, 
and  the  irregular  cannonading  which  resounded  from 
the  direction  of  the  Rue  Saint-Denis,  all  composed 
a  strident,  stupefying,  tempestuous  harmony,  beside 
which  Beethoven's  Tempest  would  have  seemed  like 
the  buzzing  of  a  bee. 

[127] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  was  listening  to  the  roaring  of  the  people,  who 
were  gnawing  at  their  chains  before  breaking  them, 
when  my  eyes  happened  to  fall  upon  a  window  of  a 
second-floor  apartment  opposite  me.  A  man  about 
sixty  years  of  age,  with  gray  hair,  a  fresh,  plump  face, 
an  honest,  placid  countenance,  and  wearing  a  mouse- 
colored  silk  dressing-gown,  was  seated  before  a  small, 
round  table.  The  window  opened  to  the  floor,  and 
I  could  see  him  in  this  frame  like  a  full-length  por- 
trait. There  was  a  bowl  of  coffee  upon  the  table,  in 
which  he  dipped  his  roll  as  he  read  his  journal.  I 
beg  your  pardon,  ladies,  for  entering  into  these  petty 
details,  but  the  habit  of  writing — 

"I  assure  you,  Monsieur,  your  story  interests  me 
very  much,"  said  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  kindly. 

"A  King  Charles  spaniel,  like  yours,  Mademoiselle, 
was  standing  near  the  window  with  his  paws  resting 
upon  it;  he  was  gazing  with  curiosity  at  the  revolution 
of  July,  while  his  master  was  reading  his  paper  and 
sipping  his  coffee,  as  indifferent  to  all  that  passed  as 
if  he  had  been  in  Pekin  or  New  York. 

"  'Oh,  the  calm  of  a  pure,  sincere  soul!'  I  exclaimed 
to  myself,  at  the  sight  of  this  little  tableau  worthy  of 
Greuze;  'oh,  patriarchal  philosophy!  in  a  few  min- 
utes perhaps  blood  will  flow  in  the  streets,  and  here 
sits  a  handsome  old  man  quietly  sipping  his  coffee.' 
He  seemed  like  a  lamb  browsing  upon  a  volcano." 

Marillac  loved  volcanoes,  and  never  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity to  bring  one  in  at  every  possible  opportunity. 

"Suddenly  a  commotion  ran  through  the  crowd; 
the  people  rushed  in  every  direction,  and  in  an  instant 
[128] 


GERFAUT 

the  boulevard  was  empty.  Plumes  waving  from  high 
caps,  red-  and-white  flags  floating  from  the  ends  of 
long  lances,  and  the  cavalcade  that  I  saw  approaching 
through  the  trees  told  me  the  cause  of  this  panic.  A 
squadron  of  lancers  was  charging.  Have  you  ever 
seen  a  charge  of  lancers?" 

"Never!"  said  both  of  the  ladies  at  once. 

"It  is  a  very  grand  sight,  I  assure  you.  Fancy, 
ladies,  a  legion  of  demons  galloping  along  upon  their 
horses,  thrusting  to  the  right  and  left  with  long  pikes, 
whose  steel  points  are  eighteen  inches  long.  That  is 
a  charge  of  lancers.  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  I  had 
shown  before  this  the  mettle  there  was  in  me,  but  I 
will  not  conceal  from  you  that  at  this  moment  I  shared 
with  the  crowd  the  impression  which  the  coming  of 
these  gentlemen  made.  I  had  only  time  to  jump  over 
the  sidewalk  and  to  dart  up  a  staircase  which  ran  on 
the  outside  of  a  house,  every  door  being  closed.  I 
never  shall  forget  the  face  of  one  of  those  men  who 
thrust  the  point  of  a  lance  at  me,  long  enough  to 
pierce  through  six  men  at  once.  I  admit  that  I  felt 
excited  then!  The  jinn  having  passed ' 

"The — what?"  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil, 
who  was  not  familiar  with  Eastern  terms. 

"I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  it  was  a  poetical  remi- 
niscence. The  lancers,  having  rushed  through  the 
boulevard  like  an  avalanche,  a  laggard  rider,  a  hun- 
dred steps  behind  the  others,  galloped  proudly  by, 
erect  in  his  stirrups  and  flourishing  his  sword.  Sud- 
denly the  report  of  a  gun  resounded,  the  lancer  reeled 
backward,  then  forward,  and  finally  fell  upon  his 
9  [129] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

horse's  neck;  a  moment  later  he  turned  in  his  saddle 
and  lay  stretched  upon  the  ground,  his  foot  caught  in 
the  stirrup ;  the  horse,  still  galloping,  dragged  the  man 
and  the  lance,  which  was  fastened  to  his  arm  by  a 
leather  band." 

"How  horrible!"  said  Clemence,  clasping  her  hands. 

Marillac,  much  pleased  with  the  effect  of  his  narra- 
tion, leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  continued  his  tale 
with  his  usual  assurance. 

"I  looked  to  the  neighboring  roofs  to  discover 
whence  came  this  shot;  as  I  was  glancing  to  the  right 
and  left  I  saw  smoke  issuing  through  the  blinds  of  the 
room  on  the  second  floor,  which  had  been  closed  at  the 
approach  of  the  lancers. 

"  'Good  God!'  I  exclaimed;  'it  must  be  this  hand- 
some old  man  in  the  mouse-colored  silk  dressing-gown 
who  amuses  himself  by  firing  upon  the  lancers,  as  if 
they  were  rabbits  in  a  warren!' 

"Just  then  the  blinds  were  opened,  and  the  strange 
fellow  with  the  unruffled  countenance  leaned  out  and 
gazed  with  a  smiling  face  in  the  direction  the  horse 
was  taking,  dragging  his  master's  body  after  him. 
The  patriarch  had  killed  his  man  between  two  sips  of 
his  coffee." 

"And  that  is  the  cowardly  way  in  which  members 
of  the  royal  guard  were  assassinated  by  the  'heroes' 
of  your  glorious  insurrection!"  exclaimed  Mademoi- 
selle de  Corandeuil,  indignantly. 

"When  the  troops  had  passed,"  Marillac  continued, 
"the  crowd  returned,  more  excited  and  noisy  than 
ever.  Barricades  were  erected  with  wonderful  rapid- 
[130] 


GERFAUT 

ity;  two  of  those  were  on  the  boulevard  close  to  the 
place  where  I  was.  I  saw  a  horseman  suddenly 
bound  over  the  first;  he  wore  a  tuft  of  red-and- white 
feathers  in  his  hat.  I  saw  that  it  was  a  staff  officer, 
doubtless  carrying  some  despatch  to  headquarters. 
He  continued  his  way,  sabre  in  its  sheath,  head  erect, 
proud  and  calm  in  the  midst  of  insulting  shouts  from 
the  crowd;  stones  were  thrown  at  him  and  sticks  at 
his  horse's  legs;  he  looked  as  if  he  were  parading  up- 
on the  Place  du  Carrousel. 

"When  he  reached  the  second  barricade,  he  drew 
his  horse  up,  as  if  it  were  merely  a  question  of  jumping 
a  hurdle  in  a  steeplechase.  Just  then  I  saw  the  win- 
dow on  the  first  floor  open  again.  'Ah!  you  old  ras- 
cal!' I  exclaimed.  The  report  of  a  gun  drowned  my 
voice;  the  horse  which  had  just  made  the  leap,  fell 
on  his  knees;  the  horseman  tried  to  pull  him  up,  but 
after  making  one  effort  the  animal  fell  over  upon 
his  side.  The  ball  had  gone  through  the  steed's 
head." 

"It  was  that  poor  Fidele  that  I  gave  your  husband," 
said  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  who  was  always 
very  sentimental  in  the  choice  of  names  she  gave  to 
animals. 

"He  merited  his  name,  Mademoiselle,  for  the  poor 
beast  died  for  his  master,  for  whom  the  shot  was  in- 
tended. Several  of  those  horrible  faces,  which  upon 
riot  days  suddenly  appear  as  if  they  came  out  of  the 
ground,  darted  toward  the  unhorsed  officer.  I,  and 
several  other  young  men  who  were  as  little  disposed 
as  myself  to  allow  a  defenceless  man  to  be  slaughtered, 
[131] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

ran  toward  him.  I  recognized  Christian  as  I  ap- 
proached; his  right  leg  was  caught  under  the  horse, 
and  he  was  trying  to  unsheath  his  sword  with  his  left 
hand.  Sticks  and  stones  were  showered  at  him.  I 
drew  out  the  sword,  which  his  position  prevented  him 
from  doing,  and  exclaimed  as  I  wraved  it  in  the  air: 
'The  first  rascal  who  advances,  I  will  cut  open  like  a 
dog.' 

"I  accompanied  these  words  with  a  flourish  which 
kept  the  cannibals  at  a  distance  for  the  time  being. 

"The  young  fellows  who  were  with  me  followed  my 
example.  One  took  a  pickaxe,  another  seized  the 
branch  of  a  tree,  while  others  tried  to  release  Christian 
from  his  horse.  During  this  time  the  crowd  increased 
around  us;  the  shouts  redoubled:  'Down  with  the 
ordinances! — These  are  disguised  gendarmes!  Vive  la 
libertel — We  must  kill  them!  Let's  hang  the  spies 
to  the  lamp-posts!' 

"Danger  was  imminent,  and  I  realized  that  only  a 
patriotic  harangue  would  get  us  out  of  the  scrape. 
While  they  were  releasing  Christian,  I  jumped  upon 
Fidele  so  as  to  be  seen  by  all  and  shouted: 

"'Vive  la  liberttl' 

11  'Vive  la  libertf!'  replied  the  crowd. 

"  'Down  with  Charles  Tenth!  Down  with  the  min- 
isters! Down  with  the  ordinances!' 

"  'Down!'  shouted  a  thousand  voices  at  once. 

"You  understand,  ladies,  this  was  a  sort  of  bait, 
intended  to  close  the  mouths  of  these  brutes. 

"  'We  are  all  citizens,  we  are  all  Frenchmen,'  I  con- 
tinued; 'we  must  not  soil  our  hands  with  the  blood  of 
[132] 


GERFAUT 

one  of  our  disarmed  brothers.  After  a  victory  there 
are  no  enemies.  This  officer  was  doing  his  duty  in 
fulfilling  his  chief's  commands;  let  us  do  ours  by  dy- 
ing, if  necessary,  for  our  country  and  the  preservation 
of  our  rights. ' 

"  '  Vive  la  liber  te!  vive  la  liberte!'  shouted  the  crowd. 
'  He  is  right ;  the  officer  was  doing  his  duty.  It  would 
be  assassination!'  exclaimed  numerous  voices. 

"  'Thanks,  Marillac,'  said  Bergenheim  to  me,  as  I 
took  his  hand  to  lead  him  away,  availing  ourselves  of 
the  effect  of  my  harangue;  'but  do  not  press  me  so 
hard,  for  I  really  believe  that  my  right  arm  is  broken; 
only  for  that,  I  should  ask  you  to  return  me  my  sword 
that  I  might  show  this  rabble  that  they  can  not  kill  a 
Bergenheim  as  they  would  a  chicken.' 

"  'Let  him  cry:  Vive  la  Cliarte!'  roared  out  a  man, 
with  a  ferocious  face. 

"  '  I  receive  orders  from  nobody, '  Christian  replied, 
in  a  very  loud  voice,  as  he  glared  at  him  with  eyes 
which  would  have  put  a  rhinoceros  to  flight. " 

"Your  husband  is  really  a  very  brave  man,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  addressing  Clemence. 

"Brave  as  an  old  warrior.  This  time  he  pushed  his 
courage  to  the  verge  of  imprudence ;  I  do  not  know 
what  the  result  might  have  been  if  the  crowd  had 
not  been  dispersed  a  second  time  by  the  approach  of 
the  lancers,  who  were  returning  through  the  boule- 
vard. I  led  Bergenheim  into  a  cafe;  fortunately,  his 
arm  was  only  sprained." 

Just  at  this  moment  Marillac's  story  was  interrupted 
by  a  sound  of  voices  and  hurried  steps.  The  door 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

opened  suddenly,  and  Aline  burst  into  the  room  with 
her  usual  impetuosity. 

"What  has  happened  to  you,  Aline?"  exclaimed 
Madame  de  Bergenheim,  hurrying  to  her  sister's  side. 
The  young  girl's  riding-habit  and  hat  were  covered 
with  splashes  of  mud. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  the  young  girl,  in  a  broken 
voice;  "it  was  only  Titania,  who  wanted  to  throw  me 
into  the  river.  Do  you  know  where  Rousselet  is? 
They  say  it  is  necessary  to  bleed  him;  and  he  is  the 
only  one  who  knows  how  to  do  it." 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  child?  Is  my  husband 
wounded?"  asked  Clemence,  turning  pale. 

"No,  not  Christian;  it  is  a  gentleman  I  do  not 
know;  only  for  him  I  should  have  been  drowned. 
Man  Dieu  !  can  not  Rousselet  be  found?" 

Aline  left  the  room  in  great  agitation.  They  all 
went  over  to  the  windows  that  opened  out  into  the 
court,  whence  the  sound  of  voices  seemed  to  arise,  and 
where  they  could  hear  the  master's  voice  thundering 
out  his  commands.  Several  servants  had  gone  to  his 
assistance:  one  of  them  held  Titania  by  the  bridle; 
she  was  covered  with  foam  and  mud,  and  was  trem- 
bling, with  distended  nostrils,  like  a  beast  that  knows 
it  has  just  committed  a  wicked  action.  A  young  man 
was  seated  upon  a  stone  bench,  wiping  away  blood 
which  streamed  from  his  forehead.  It  was  Monsieur 
de  Gerfaut. 

At  this  sight  Cle'mence  supported  herself  against 
the  framework  of  the  window,  and  Marillac  hurriedly 
left  the  room. 

[i34] 


GERFAUT 

Pere  Rousselet,  who  had  at  last  been  found  in  the 
kitchen,  advanced  majestically,  eating  an  enormous 
slice  of  bread  and  butter. 

"Good  heavens!  have  you  arrived  at  last?"  ex- 
claimed Bergenheim.  "Here  is  a  gentleman  this 
crazy  mare  has  thrown  against  a  tree,  and  who  has 
received  a  violent  blow  on  the  head.  Do  you  not 
think  it  would  be  the  proper  thing  to  bleed 
him?" 

"A  slight  phlebotomy  might  be  very  advantageous 
in  stopping  the  extravasation  of  blood  in  the  frontal 
region,"  replied  the  peasant,  calling  to  his  aid  all  the 
technical  terms  he  had  learned  when  he  was  a  hos- 
pital nurse. 

"Are  you  sure  you  can  do  this  bleeding  well?" 

"I'll  take  the  liberty  of  saying  to  Monsieur  le  Baron 
that  I  phlebotomized  Perdreau  last  week  and  Mas- 
careau  only  a  month  ago,  without  any  complaint  from 
them." 

"Indeed!  I  believe  you,"  sneered  the  groom,  "both 
are  on  their  last  legs. " 

"I  am  neither  Perdreau  nor  Mascareau,"  observed 
the  wounded  man  with  a  smile. 

Rousselet  drew  himself  up  at  full  height,  with  the 
dignity  of  a  man  of  talent  who  scorns  to  reply  to 
either  criticism  or  mistrust. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Gerfaut,  turning  to  the  Baron, 
"I  am  really  causing  you  too  much  trouble.  This 
trifle  does  not  merit  the  attention  you  give  it.  I  do 
not  suffer  in  the  least.  Some  water  and  a  napkin  are 
all  that  I  need.  I  fancy  that  I  resemble  an  Iroquois 
[i35] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Indian  who  has  just  been  scalped;  my  pride  is  really 
what  is  most  hurt,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "when  I 
think  of  the  grotesque  sight  I  must  present  to  the 
ladies  whom  I  notice  at  the  window." 

"Why,  it  is  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut!"  exclaimed  Mad- 
emoiselle de  Corandeuil,  toward  whom  he  raised  his 
eyes. 

Octave  bowed  to  her  with  a  gracious  air.  His 
glance  wandered  from  the  old  lady  to  Clemence,  who 
did  not  seem  to  have  the  strength  to  leave  the  win- 
dow. M.  de  Bergenheim,  after  hurriedly  greeting 
Marillac,  finally  yielded  to  the  assurance  that  a  sur- 
geon was  unnecessary,  and  conducted  the  two  friends 
to  his  own  room,  where  the  wounded  man  could  find 
everything  that  he  needed. 

"What  the  devil  was  the  use  in  sending  me  as  am- 
bassador, since  you  were  to  make  such  a  fine  entrance 
upon  the  stage?"  murmured  Marillac  in  his  friend's 
ear. 

"Silence!"  replied  the  latter  as  he  pressed  his  hand; 
"I  am  only  behind  the  scenes  as  yet." 

During  this  time  Clemence  and  her  aunt  had  led 
Aline  to  her  room. 

"Now,  tell  us  what  all  this  means?"  said  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil,  while  the  young  girl  was  chang- 
ing her  dress. 

"It  was  Christian's  fault,"  replied  Aline.  "We 
were  galloping  along  beside  the  river  when  Titania 
became  frightened  by  the  branch  of  a  tree.  'Do  not 
be  afraid!'  exclaimed  my  brother.  I  was  not  in  the 
least  frightened;  but  when  he  saw  that  my  horse  was 


GERFAUT 

dbout  to  run  away,  he  urged  his  on  in  order  to  join  me. 
When  Titania  heard  the  galloping  behind  her  she 
did  run  away  in  earnest;  she  left  the  road  and  started 
straight  for  the  river.  Then  I  began  to  be  a  little 
frightened.  Just  fancy,  Clemence,  I  bounded  in  the 
saddle  at  each  leap,  sometimes  upon  the  mare's  neck, 
sometimes  upon  the  crupper;  it  was  terrible!  I  tried 
to  withdraw  my  foot  from  the  stirrup  as  Christian  had 
told  me  to  do;  but  just  then  Titania  ran  against  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  and  I  rolled  over  with  her.  A  gentle- 
man, whom  I  had  not  seen  before,  and  who,  I  believe, 
actually  jumped  out  of  the  ground,  raised  me  from 
the  saddle,  where  I  was  held  by  something,  I  do  not 
know  what;  then  that  naughty  Titania  threw  him 
against  the  tree  as  he  was  helping  me  to  my  feet,  and 
when  I  was  able  to  look  at  him  his  face  was  covered 
with  blood.  Christian  rushed  on  the  scene,  and,  when 
he  saw  that  I  was  not  badly  hurt,  he  ran  after  Titania 
and  beat  her!  Oh!  how  he  beat  her!  Man  Dieu!  how 
cruel  men  are !  It  was  in  vain  for  me  to  cry  for  mercy ; 
he  would  not  listen  to  me.  Then  we  came  home,  and, 
#nce  this  gentleman  is  not  badly  wounded,  it  seems 
:hat  my  poor  dress  has  fared  worst  of  all." 

The  young  girl  took  her  riding-habit  from  the  chair 
as  she  said  these  words,  and  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of 
horror  when  she  saw  an  enormous  rent  in  it. 

"Mon  Dieu ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  showed  it  to 
her  sister-in-law.  It  was  all  that  she  had  strength  to 
articulate. 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  took  the  skirt  in  her 
turn,  and  looked  at  it  with  the  practised  eye  of  a  per- 
[i37] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

son  who  had  made  a  special  study  of  little  disasters  of 
the  toilet  and  the  ways  of  remedying  them. 

"It  is  in  the  fullness,"  said  she,  "and  by  putting  in 
a  new  breadth  it  will  never  be  seen." 

Aline,  once  convinced  that  the  evil  could  be  repaired, 
soon  recovered  her  serenity. 

When  the  three  ladies  entered  the  drawing-room 
they  found  the  Baron  and  his  two  guests  chatting 
amicably.  Gerfaut  had  his  forehead  tied  up  with  a 
black  silk  band  which  gave  him  a  slight  resemblance 
to  Cupid  with  his  bandage  just  off  his  eyes.  His 
sparkling  glance  showed  that  blindness  was  not  what 
there  was  in  common  between  him  and  the  charming 
little  god.  After  the  first  greetings,  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil,  who  was  always  strict  as  to  etiquette,  and 
who  thought  that  Titania  had  been  a  rather  uncere- 
monious master  of  ceremonies  between  her  nephew  and 
M.  de  Gerfaut,  advanced  toward  the  latter  in  order  to 
introduce  them  formally  to  each  other. 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  she,  "that  Monsieur  de  Ber- 
genheim  has  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you  before  to- 
day; allow  me  then  to  present  you  to  him.  Baron, 
this  is  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  de  Gerfaut,  one  of  my 
relatives." 

When  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  was  in  good 
humor,  she  treated  Gerfaut  as  a  relative  on  account  of 
their  family  alliance  of  1569.  At  this  moment  the  poet 
felt  profoundly  grateful  for  this  kindness. 

"Monsieur  has  presented  himself  so  well,"  said 
Christian  frankly,  "that  your  recommendation,  my  dear 
aunt,  in  spite  of  the  respect  I  have  for  it,  will  not  add 
[138] 


GERFAUT 

to  my  gratitude.  Only  for  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,  here 
is  a  madcap  little  girl  whom  we  should  be  obliged  to 
look  for  now  at  the  bottom  of  the  river." 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  passed  his  arm  about  his 
sister's  waist  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  while  Aline  was 
obliged  to  stand  upon  the  tips  of  her  toes  to  reach  her 
brother's  lips. 

"These  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "have  agreed  to 
sacrifice  for  us  the  pleasure  of  the  Femme-sans-Te'te, 
as  well  as  Mademoiselle  Gobillot's  civilities,  and  es- 
tablish their  headquarters  in  my  house.  They  can  pur- 
sue their  picturesque  and  romantic  studies  from  here 
just  as  well;  I  suppose,  Marillac,  that  you  are  still  a 
determined  dauber  of  canvas?" 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  replied  the  poet,  "art  absorbs 
me  a  great  deal." 

"As  to  myself,  I  never  succeeded  in  drawing  a  nose 
that  did  not  resemble  an  ear  and  vice  versa.  But  for 
that  worthy  Baringnier,  who  was  kind  enough  to  look 
over  my  plans,  I  ran  a  great  risk  of  leaving  Saint  Cyr 
without  a  graduating  diploma.  But  seriously,  gentle- 
men, when  you  are  tired  of  sketching  trees  and  tumble- 
down houses,  I  can  give  you  some  good  boar  hunting. 
Are  you  a  hunter,  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut?" 

"I  like  hunting  very  much,"  replied  the  lover,  with 
rare  effrontery. 

The  conversation  continued  thus  upon  the  topics  that 
occupy  people  who  meet  for  the  first  time.  When  the 
Baron  spoke  of  the  two  friends  installing  themselves 
at  the  chateau,  Octave  darted  a  glance  at  Madame  de 
Bergenheim,  as  if  soliciting  a  tacit  approbation  of  his 
[i39] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

conduct ;  but  met  with  no  response.  Clemence,  with  a 
gloomy,  sombre  air  fulfilled  the  duties  that  politeness 
imposed  upon  her  as  mistress  of  the  house.  Her  con- 
duct did  not  change  during  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and 
Gerfaut  no  longer  tried  by  a  single  glance  to  soften  the 
severity  she  seemed  determined  to  adopt  toward  him. 
All  his  attentions  were  reserved  for  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil  and  Aline,  who  listened  with  unconcealed 
pleasure  to  the  man  whom  she  regarded  as  her  saviour; 
for  the  young  girl's  remembrance  of  the  danger  which 
she  had  run  excited  her  more  and  more. 

After  supper  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  proposed 
a  game  of  whist  to  M.  de  Gerfaut,  whose  talent  for  the 
game  had  made  a  lasting  impression  upon  her.  The 
poet  accepted  this  diversion  with  an  enthusiasm  equal 
to  that  he  had  shown  for  hunting,  and  quite  as  sincere 
too.  Christian  and  his  sister — a  little  gamester  in  em- 
bryo, like  all  of  her  family — completed  the  party,  while 
Cle'mence  took  up  her  work  and  listened  with  an  absent- 
minded  air  to  Marillac's  conversation.  It  was  in  vain 
for  the  latter  to  call  art  and  the  Middle  Ages  to  his  aid, 
using  the  very  quintessence  of  his  brightest  speeches — 
success  did  not  attend  his  effort.  After  the  end  of  an 
hour,  he  had  a  firm  conviction  that  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim  was,  everything  considered,  only  a  woman  of 
ordinary  intelligence  and  entirely  unworthy  of  the  pas- 
sion she  had  inspired  in  his  friend. 

"Upon  my  soul,"  he  thought,  "I  would  a  hundred 
times  rather  have  Reine  Gobillot  for  a  sweetheart.  I 
must  take  a  trip  in  that  direction  to-morrow." 

When  they  separated  for  the  night,  Gerfaut,  bored 
[140] 


GERFAUT 

by  his  evening  and  wounded  by  his  reception  from 
Clemence,  which,  he  thought,  surpassed  anything  he 
could  have  expected  of  her  capricious  disposition,  ad- 
dressed to  the  young  woman  a  profound  bow  and  a 
look  which  said: 

"I  am  here  in  spite  of  you;  I  shall  stay  here  in  spite 
of  you;  you  shall  love  me  in  spite  of  yourself." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  replied  by  a  glance  none 
the  less  expressive,  in  which  a  lover  the  most  prone  to 
conceit  could  read: 

"Do  as  you  like;  I  have  as  much  indifference  for 
your  love  as  disdain  for  your  presumption." 

This  was  the  last  shot  in  this  preliminary  skirmish. 


I  i4i] 


CHAPTER  IX 

GERFAUT,  THE  WIZARD 

[ERE  are  some  women  who,  like  the 
heroic  Cure  Merino,  need  but  one 
hour's  sleep.  A  nervous,  irritable, 
subtle  organization  gives  them  a 
power  for  waking,  without  apparent 
fatigue,  refused  to  most  men.  And 
yet,  when  a  strong  emotion  causes 
its  corrosive  waters  to  filtrate  into  the 
veins  of  these  impressionable  beings,  it  trickles  there 
drop  by  drop,  until  it  has  hollowed  out  in  the  very 
depths  of  their  hearts  a  lake  full  of  trouble  and  storms. 
Then,  in  the  silence  of  night  and  the  calm  of  soli- 
tude, insomnia  makes  the  rosy  cheeks  grow  pale  and 
dark  rings  encircle  the  most  sparkling  eyes.  It  is  in 
vain  for  the  burning  forehead  to  seek  the  cool  pillow; 
the  pillow  grows  warm  without  the  forehead  cooling. 
In  vain  the  mind  hunts  for  commonplace  ideas,  as  a 
sort  of  intellectual  poppy-leaves  that  may  lead  to  a 
quiet  night's  rest;  a  persistent  thought  still  returns, 
chasing  away  all  others,  as  an  eagle  disperses  a  flock 
of  timid  birds  in  order  to  remain  sole  master  of  its 
prey.  If  one  tries  to  repeat  the  accustomed  prayer, 
and  invoke  the  aid  of  the  Virgin,  or  the  good  angel 
who  watches  at  the  foot  of  young  girls'  beds,  in  order 
[142] 


GERFAUT 

to  keep  away  the  charms  of  the  tempter,  the  prayer  is 
only  on  the  lips,  the  Virgin  is  deaf,  the  angel  sleeps! 
The  breath  of  passion  against  which  one  struggles  runs 
through  every  fibre  of  the  heart,  like  a  storm  over  the 
chords  of  an  ^Eolian  harp,  and  extorts  from  it  those 
magic  melodies  to  which  a  poor,  troubled,  and  fright- 
ened woman  listens  with  remorse  and  despair;  but  to 
which  she  listens,  and  with  which  at  last  she  is  intoxi- 
cated, for  the  allegory  of  Eve  is  an  immortal  myth, 
that  repeats  itself,  through  every  century  and  in  every 
clime. 

Since  her  entrance  into  society,  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim  had  formed  the  habit  of  keeping  late  hours. 
When  the  minute  details  of  her  toilette  for  the  night 
were  over,  and  she  had  confided  her  beautiful  body  to 
the  snowy  sheets  of  her  couch,  some  new  novel  or 
fashionable  magazine  helped  her  wile  away  the  time 
until  sleep  came  to  her.  Christian  left  his  room,  like 
a  good  country  gentleman,  at  sunrise;  he  left  it  either 
for  the  chase  or  to  oversee  workmen,  who  were  con- 
tinually being  employed  upon  some  part  of  his  domain. 
Ordinarily,  he  returned  only  in  time  for  dinner,  and 
rarely  saw  Clemence  except  between  that  time  and 
supper,  at  the  conclusion  of  which,  fatigued  by  his 
day's  work,  he  hastened  to  seek  the  repose  of  the  just. 
Husband  and  wife,  while  living  under  the  same  roof, 
were  thus  almost  completely  isolated  from  each  other; 
night  for  one  was  day  for  the  other. 

By  the  haste  with  which  Clemence  shortened  her 
preparations  for  the  night,  one  would  have  said  that 
she  must  have  been  blessed  with  an  unusually  sleepy 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

sensation.  But  when  she  lay  in  bed,  with  her  head 
under  her  arm,  like  a  swan  with  his  neck  under  his 
wing,  and  almost  in  the  attitude  of  Correggio's  Mag- 
dalen, her  eyes,  which  sparkled  with  a  feverish  light, 
betrayed  the  fact  that  she  had  sought  the  solitude  of 
her  bed  in  order  to  indulge  more  freely  in  deep  med- 
itation. 

With  marvelous  fidelity  she  went  over  the  slightest 
events  of  the  day,  to  which  by  a  constant  effort  of  will- 
power, she  had  seemed  so  indifferent.  First,  she  saw 
Gerfaut  with  his  face  covered  with  blood,  and  the 
thought  of  the  terrible  sensation  which  this  sight 
caused  her  made  her  heart  throb  violently.  She  then 
recalled  him  as  she  next  saw  him,  in  the  drawing-room 
by  her  husband's  side,  seated  in  the  very  chair  that  she 
had  left  but  a  moment  before.  This  trifling  circum- 
stance impressed  her;  she  saw  in  this  a  proof  of  sym- 
pathetic understanding,  a  sort  of  gift  of  second  sight 
which  Octave  possessed,  and  which  in  her  eyes  was  so 
formidable  a  weapon.  According  to  her  ideas,  he 
must  have  suspected  that  this  was  her  own  favorite 
chair  and  have  seized  it  for  that  reason,  just  as  he 
would  have  loved  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 

For  the  first  time,  Clemence  had  seen  together  the 
man  to  whom  she  belonged  and  the  man  whom  she 
regarded  somewhat  as  her  property.  For,  by  one  of 
those  arrangements  with  their  consciences  of  which 
women  alone  possess  the  secret,  she  had  managed  to 
reason  like  this:  "Since  I  am  certain  always  to  belong 
to  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim  only,  Octave  can  certainly 
belong  to  me."  An  heterodoxical  syllogism,  whose  two 


GERFAUT 

premises  she  reconciled  with  an  inconceivable  sub- 
tlety. A  feeling  of  shame  had  made  her  dread  this 
meeting,  which  the  most  hardened  coquette  could  never 
witness  without  embarrassment.  A  woman,  between 
her  husband  and  her  lover,  is  like  a  plant  one  sprinkles 
with  ice-cold  water  while  a  ray  of  sunlight  is  trying  to 
comfort  it.  The  sombre  and  jealous,  or  even  tranquil 
and  unsuspecting,  face  of  a  husband  has  a  wonderful 
power  of  repression.  One  is  embarrassed  to  love 
under  the  glance  of  an  eye  that  darts  flashes  as  bright 
as  steel;  and  a  calm,  kindly  look  is  more  terrible  yet, 
for  all  jealousy  seems  tyrannical,  and  tyranny  leads  to 
revolt;  but  a  confiding  husband  is  like  a  victim  stran- 
gled in  his  sleep,  and  inspires,  by  his  very  calmness, 
the  most  poignant  remorse. 

The  meeting  of  these  two  men  naturally  led  Clem- 
ence  to  a  comparison  which  could  but  be  to  Christian's 
advantage.  Gerfaut  had  nothing  remarkable  about  him 
save  an  intelligent,  intensely  clever  air;  there  was  a 
thoughtful  look  in  his  eyes  and  an  archness  in  his  smile, 
but  his  irregular  features  showed  no  mark  of  beauty; 
his  face  wore  an  habitually  tired  expression,  pecu- 
liar to  those  people  who  have  lived  a  great  deal  in  a 
short  time,  and  it  made  him  look  older  than  Christian, 
although  he  was  really  several  years  younger.  The 
latter,  on  the  contrary,  owed  to  his  strong  constitution, 
fortified  by  country  life,  an  appearance  of  blooming 
youth  that  enhanced  his  noble  regularity  of  features. 

In  a  word,  Christian  was  handsomer  than  his  rival, 
and  Clemence  exaggerated  her  husband's  superiority 
over  her  lover.  Not  being  able  to  find  the  latter  awk- 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

ward  or  insignificant,  she  tried  to  persuade  herself  that 
he  was  ugly.  She  then  reviewed  in  her  mind  all  M. 
de  Bergenheim's  good  qualities,  his  attachment  and 
kindness  to  her,  his  loyal,  generous  ways;  she  recalled 
the  striking  instance  that  Marillac  had  related  of  his 
bravery,  a  quality  without  which  there  is  no  hope 
of  success  for  a  man  in  the  eyes  of  any  woman.  She 
did  all  in  her  power  to  inflame  her  imagination  and 
to  see  in  her  husband  a  hero  worthy  of  inspiring  the 
most  fervent  love.  When  she  had  exhausted  her  ef- 
forts toward  such  enthusiasm  and  admiration,  she 
turned  round,  in  despair,  and,  burying  her  head  in  her 
pillow,  she  sobbed: 

"I  cannot,  I  cannot  love  him!" 

She  wept  bitterly  for  a  long  while.  As  she  recalled 
her  own  severity  in  the  past  regarding  women  whose 
conduct  had  caused  scandal,  she  employed  in  her  turn 
the  harshness  of  her  judgment  in  examining  her  own 
actions.  She  felt  herself  more  guilty  than  all  the 
others,  for  her  weakness  appeared  less  excusable  to 
her.  She  felt  that  she  was  unworthy  and  contempti- 
ble, and  wished  to  die  that  she  might  escape  the  shame 
that  made  her  blush  scarlet,  and  the  remorse  that 
tortured  her  soul. 

How  many  such  unhappy  tears  bathe  the  eyes  of 
those  who  should  shed  only  tears  of  joy!  How  many 
such  sighs  break  the  silence  of  the  night!  There  are 
noble,  celestial  beings  among  women  whom  remorse 
stretches  out  upon  its  relentless  brasier,  but  in  the 
midst  of  the  flames  that  torture  them  the  heart  pal- 
pitates, imperishable  as  a  salamander.  Is  it  not  hu- 
[146] 


GERFAUT 

man  fate  to  suffer?  After  Madame  de  Bergenheim 
had  given  vent,  by  convulsive  sobs  and  stifled  sighs, 
to  her  grief  for  this  love  which  she  could  not  tear  from 
her  breast,  she  formed  a  desperate  resolution.  From 
the  manner  in  which  M.  de  Gerfaut  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  chateau  the  very  first  day,  she  recognized 
that  he  was  master  of  the  situation.  The  sort  of  in- 
fatuation which  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  seemed 
to  have  for  him,  and  Christian's  courteous  and  hos- 
pitable habits,  would  give  him  an  opportunity  to  pro- 
long his  stay  as  long  as  he  desired.  She  thus  compared 
herself  to  a  besieged  general,  who  sees  the  enemy 
within  his  ramparts. 

"Very  well!  I  will  shut  myself  up  in  the  fortress!" 
said  she,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself  in  the  midst  of  her 
tears.  "Since  this  insupportable  man  has  taken  pos- 
session of  my  drawing-room,  I  will  remain  in  my  own 
room;  we  will  see  whether  he  dares  to  approach  that!" 

She  shook  her  pretty  head  with  a  defiant  air,  but 
she  could  not  help  glancing  into  the  room  which  was 
barely  lighted  with  a  night  lamp.  She  sat  up  and 
listened  for  a  moment  rather  anxiously,  as  if  Octave's 
dark  eyes  might  suddenly  glisten  in  the  obscurity. 
When  she  had  assured  herself  that  all  was  tranquil, 
and  that  the  throbbing  of  her  heart  was  all  that  dis- 
turbed the  silence,  she  continued  preparing  her  plan 
of  defense. 

She  decided  that  she  would  be  ill  the  next  day  and 
keep  to  her  bed,  if  necessary,  until  her  persecutor 
should  make  up  his  mind  to  beat  a  retreat.  She  sol- 
emnly pledged  herself  to  be  firm,  courageous,  and  in- 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

flexible;  then  she  tried  to  pray.  It  was  now  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  For  some  time  Clemence  re- 
mained motionless,  and  one  might  have  thought  that 
at  least  she  was  asleep.  Suddenly  she  arose.  With- 
out stopping  to  put  on  her  dressing-gown,  she  lighted 
a  candle  by  the  night-lamp,  pushed  the  bolt  of  her  door 
and  then  went  to  the  windows,  the  space  between 
them  forming  a  rather  deep  projection  on  account  of 
the  thickness  of  the  walls.  A  portrait  of  the  Duke  of 
Bordeaux  hung  there;  she  raised  it  and  pressed  a 
button  concealed  in  the  woodwork.  A  panel  opened, 
showing  a  small  empty  space.  The  shelf  in  this  sort 
of  closet  contained  only  a  rosewood  casket.  She 
opened  this  mysterious  box  and  took  from  it  a  package 
of  letters,  then  returned  to  her  bed  with  the  eagerness 
of  a  miser  who  is  about  to  gaze  upon  his  treasures. 

Had  she  not  struggled  and  prayed?  Had  she  not 
offered  upon  the  tyrannical  altar  of  duty  as  an  expia- 
tion, tears,  pale  cheeks  and  a  tortured  soul  ?  Had  she 
not  just  taken  a  solemn  vow,  in  the  presence  of  God 
and  herself,  which  should  protect  her  against  her  weak- 
ness? Was  she  not  a  virtuous  wife,  and  had  she  not 
paid  dearly  enough  for  a  moment  of  sad  happiness? 
Was  it  a  crime  to  breathe  for  an  instant  the  balmy  air 
of  love  through  the  gratings  of  this  prison-cell,  the 
doors  of  which  she  had  just  locked  with  her  own 
hand?  Admirable  logic  for  loving  hearts,  which,  not 
being  able  to  control  their  feelings,  suffer  in  order  to 
prove  themselves  less  guilty,  and  clothe  themselves  in 
haircloth  so  that  each  shudder  may  cause  a  pain  that 
condones  the  sin! 

[148] 


GERFAUT 

Being  at  peace  with  herself,  she  read  as  women  read 
who  are  in  love;  leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand,  she 
drew  out  the  letters,  one  by  one,  from  her  bosom  where 
she  had  placed  them.  She  drank  with  her  heart  and 
eyes  the  poison  these  passionate  words  contained;  she 
allowed  herself  to  be  swayed  at  will  by  these  melodies 
which  lulled  but  did  not  benumb.  When  one  of  those 
invincible  appeals  of  imploring  passion  awoke  all  the 
echoes  of  her  love,  and  ran  through  her  veins  with  a 
thrill,  striking  the  innermost  depths  of  her  heart,  she 
threw  herself  back  and  imprinted  her  burning  lips  upon 
the  cold  paper.  With  one  letter  pressed  to  her  heart, 
and  another  pressed  to  her  lips,  she  gave  herself  up 
completely,  exclaiming  in  an  inaudible  voice:  "I  love 
thee!  I  am  thine!" 

The  next  morning,  when  Aline  entered  her  sister-in- 
law's  room,  according  to  her  usual  custom,  the  latter 
was  not  obliged  to  feign  the  indisposition  she  had 
planned;  the  sensations  of  this  sleepless  night  had 
paled  her  cheeks  and  altered  her  features;  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  complete  con- 
trast than  that  between  these  two  young  women  at 
this  moment.  Clemence,  lying  upon  her  bed  motion- 
less and  white  as  the  sheet  which  covered  her,  resem- 
bled Juliet  sleeping  in  her  tomb;  Aline,  rosy,  viva- 
cious, and  more  petulant  than  usual,  looked  very  much 
the  madcap  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  had  re- 
proached her  with  being.  Her  face  was  full  of  that 
still  childish  grace,  more  lovely  than  calm,  more  pleas- 
ing than  impressive,  which  makes  young  girls  so 
charming  to  the  eye  but  less  eloquent  to  the  heart; 
[i49] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

for  are  they  not  fresh  flowers  more  rich  in  coloring 
than  in  perfume? 

Clemence  could  hardly  stifle  a  sigh  as  she  gazed  at 
those  rosy  cheeks,  those  sparkling  eyes,  that  life  so 
full  of  the  rich  future.  She  recalled  a  time  when  she 
was  thus,  when  grief  glided  over  her  cheeks  without 
paling  them,  when  tears  dried  as  they  left  her  eyes; 
she  also  had  had  her  happy,  careless  days,  her  dreams 
of  unalloyed  bliss. 

Aline,  after  presenting  her  face  like  a  child  who 
asks  for  a  kiss,  wished  to  tease  her  as  usual,  but, 
with  a  tired  gesture,  her  sister-in-law  begged  for 
mercy. 

"Are  you  ill?"  asked  the  young  girl  anxiously,  as 
she  seated  herself  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  smiled,  a  forced  smile. 

"Thank  me  for  my  poor  health,"  said  she,  "fork 
obliges  you  to  do  the  honors;  I  shall  doubtless  not  be 
able  to  go  down  to  dinner,  and  you  must  take  my 
place.  You  know  that  it  tires  my  aunt  to  have  to 
trouble  herself  about  others." 

Aline  made  a  little  grimace  as  she  replied: 

"If  I  thought  you  were  speaking  seriously,  I  would 
go  and  get  into  my  own  bed  at  once!" 

"Child!  will  you  not  in  your  turn  be  mistress  of  a 
home?  Is  it  not  necessary  for  you  to  become  accus- 
tomed to  it?  It  is  an  excellent  opportunity,  and, 
with  my  aunt  as  a  guide,  you  are  sure  to  acquit  your- 
self well." 

These  last  words  were  spoken  rather  maliciously, 
for  the  young  woman  knew  that  of  all  the  possible 
[150] 


GERFAUT 

mentors,   Mademoiselle  de   Corandeuil  was  the  one 
whom  Aline  dreaded  most. 

"I  beg  of  you,  my  kind  sister,"  replied  the  girl, 
clasping  her  hands,  "do  not  be  ill  to-day.  Is  it  the 
neuralgia  of  the  day  before  yesterday  you  are  suffer- 
ing from?  Do  be  a  good  sister,  and  get  up  and  come 
and  take  a  walk  in  the  park;  the  fresh  air  will  cure 
you,  I  am  sure  of  it — 

"And  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  preside  at  the  dinner- 
table,  you  would  add;  is  it  not  so?  You  selfish  girl!" 

"I  am  afraid  of  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,"  said  the 
child,  lowering  her  voice. 

When  she  heard  pronounced  this  name,  so  deeply 
agitating  her,  Madame  de  Bergenheim  was  silent  for 
a  moment;  at  last  she  said: 

"What  has  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  done  to  you?  Is 
it  not  downright  ungrateful  to  be  afraid  of  him  so 
soon  after  the  service  he  has  rendered  you?" 

"No,  I  am  not  ungrateful,"  replied  the  young  girl 
quickly.  "I  never  shall  forget  that  I  owe  my  life  to 
him,  for  certainly,  but  for  him,  I  should  have  been 
dragged  into  the  river.  But  he  has  such  black,  pierc- 
ing eyes  that  they  seem  to  look  into  your  very  soul; 
and  then,  he  is  such  a  brilliant  man!  I  am  all  the  time 
afraid  of  saying  something  that  he  may  laugh  at.  You 
know,  some  people  think  I  talk  too  much;  but  I  shall 
never  dare  open  my  mouth  in  his  presence..  Why  do 
some  persons'  eyes  make  such  an  impression  upon 
one?" 

Clemence  lowered  her  own  beautiful  eyes  and  made 
no  reply. 

[151] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"His  friend,  Monsieur  Marillac,  does  not  frighten 
me  one  bit,  in  spite  of  his  big  moustache.  Tell  me, 
does  not  this  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  frighten  you  a  lit- 
tle too?" 

"Not  at  all,  I  assure  you,"  replied  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim,  trying  to  smile.  "But,"  she  continued,  in 
order  to  change  the  conversation,  "how  fine  you  look! 
You  have  certainly  some  plan  of  conquest.  What!  a 
city  gown  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  hair 
dressed  as  if  for  a  ball?" 

"Would  you  like  to  know  the  compliment  your  aunt 
just  paid  me?" 

"Some  little  jest  of  hers,  I  suppose?" 

"You  might  say  some  spiteful  remark,  for  she  is  the 
hatefulest  thing!  She  told  me  that  blue  ribbons  suited 
red  hair  very  badly  and  advised  me  to  change  one  or 
the  other.  Is  it  true  that  my  hair  is  red?" 

Mademoiselle  de  Bergenheim  asked  this  question 
with  so  much  anxiety  that  her  sister-in-law  could  not 
repress  a  smile. 

"You  know  that  my  aunt  delights  in  annoying  you," 
said  she.  "Your  hair  is  very  pretty,  a  bright  blond, 
very  pleasant  to  the  eye;  only  Justine  waves  it  a  little 
too  tight;  it  curls  naturally.  She  dresses  your  hair 
too  high;  it  would  be  more  becoming  to  you  if  she 
pushed  it  back  from  your  temples  a  little  than  to  wave 
it  as  much  as  she  does.  Come  a  little  nearer  to  me." 

Aline  knelt  before  Madame  de  Bergenheim's  bed, 
and  the  latter,  adding  a  practical  lesson  to  verbal  ad- 
vice, began  to  modify  the  maid's  work  to  suit  her  own 
taste. 

[152] 


GERFAUT 

"It  curls  like  a  little  mane,"  said  the  young  girl,  as 
she  saw  the  trouble  her  sister-in-law  had  in  succeed- 
ing; "it  was  my  great  trouble  at  the  Sacred  Heart. 
The  sisters  wished  us  to  wear  our  hair  plain,  and  I 
always  had  a  terrible  time  to  keep  it  in  place.  How- 
ever, blond  hair  looks  ugly  when  too  plainly  dressed, 
and  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  said  yesterday  that  it  was 
the  shade  he  liked  best." 

"  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  told  you  he  liked  blond  hair 
best!" 

"Take  care;  you  are  pulling  my  hair!  Yes,  blond 
hair  and  blue  eyes.  He  said  that  when  speaking  of 
Carlo  Dolci's  Virgin,  and  he  said  she  was  of  the  most 
beautiful  Jewish  type;  if  he  intended  it  as  a  compli- 
ment to  me,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him.  Do  you 
think  that  my  eyes  are  as  blue  as  that  of  the  painted 
Virgin's.  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  pretends  that  there  is 
a  strong  resemblance." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  withdrew  her  hand  so 
quickly  that  she  pulled  out  half  a  dozen  or  more  hairs 
from  her  sister-in-law's  head,  and  buried  herself  up 
to  the  chin  in  the  bedclothes. 

"Oh!  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  knows  how  to  pay  very 
pretty  compliments!"  she  said.  "And  you  doubtless 
are  very  well  pleased  to  resemble  Carlo  Dolci's  Ma- 
donna?" 

"She  is  very  pretty! — and  then  it  is  the  Holy  Virgin, 
you  know — Ah!  I  hear  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut's  voice 
in  the  garden." 

The  young  girl  arose  quickly  and  ran  to  the  win- 
dow, where,  concealed  behind  the  curtains,  she  could 
[i53] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

see  what  was  going  on  outside  without  being  seen 
herself. 

"He  is  with  Christian,"  she  continued.  "There, 
they  are  going  to  the  library.  They  must  have  just 
taken  a  long  walk,  for  they  are  bespattered  with  mud. 
If  you  could  only  see  what  a  pretty  little  cap  Monsieur 
de  Gerfaut  has  on!" 

"Truly,  he  will  turn  her  head,"  thought  Madame  de 
Bergenheim,  with  a  decided  feeling  of  anger;  then  she 
closed  her  eyes  as  if  she  wished  to  sleep. 

Gerfaut  had,  in  fact,  just  returned  from  paying  his 
respects  to  the  estate.  He  had  followed  his  host,  who, 
under  the  pretext  of  showing  him  several  picturesque 
sights,  promenaded  him,  in  the  morning  dew,  through 
the  lettuce  in  the  kitchen  garden  and  the  underbrush 
in  the  park.  But  he  knew  through  experience  that  all 
was  not  roses  in  a  lover's  path;  watching  in  the  snow, 
climbing  walls,  hiding  in  obscure  closets,  imprisonment 
in  wardrobes,  were  more  disagreeable  incidents  than  a 
quiet  teie-h-tHe  with  a  husband. 

He  listened,  therefore,  complacently  enough  to  Ber- 
genheim's  prolix  explanations,  interested  himself  in 
the  planting  of  trees,  thought  the  fields  very  green, 
the  forests  admirable,  the  granite  rocks  more  beautiful 
than  those  of  the  Alps,  went  into  ecstasies  over  the 
smallest  vista,  advised  the  establishment  of  a  new 
mill  on  the  river,  which,  being  navigable  for  rafts, 
might  convey  lumber  to  all  the  cities  on  the  Moselle, 
and  thus  greatly  increase  the  value  of  the  owner's 
woods.  They  fraternized  like  Glaucus  and  Diomede; 
Gerfaut  hoping,  of  course,  to  play  the  part  of  the  Greek, 
[i54] 


GERFAUT 

who,  according  to  Homer,  received  in  return  for  a 
common  iron  armor  a  gold  one  of  inestimable  value. 
There  is  always  such  a  secret  mental  reservation  in 
the  lover's  mind  when  associating  with  the  husband 
of  his  inamorata. 

When  he  entered  the  room  of  his  wife,  whose  indis- 
position had  been  reported  to  him,  Christian's  first 
words  were: 

"This  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  appears  to  be  a  very 
excellent  fellow,  and  I  shall  be  delighted  if  he  will 
stay  with  us  a  while.  It  is  too  bad  that  you  are  ill. 
He  is  a  good  musician,  as  well  as  Marillac;  you  might 
have  sung  together.  Try  to  get  better  quickly  and 
come  down  to  dinner." 

"I  can  not  really  tell  him  that  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut 
has  loved  me  for  more  than  a  year,"  said  Madame  de 
Bergenheim  to  herself. 

A  moment  later,  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  ap- 
peared, and  with  a  prim  air  seated  herself  beside  the 
bed. 

"Perhaps  you  think  that  I  am  fooled  by  this  indis- 
position. I  see  plainly  that  you  wish  to  be  impolite 
to  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,  for  you  can  not  endure  him. 
It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  a  relative  of  your  family 
ought  to  be  treated  with  more  respect  by  you,  above 
all,  when  you  know  how  much  I  esteem  him.  This  is 
unheard-of  absurdity,  and  I  shall  end  by  speaking  to 
your  husband  about  it;  we  shall  see  if  his  intervention 
will  not  have  more  effect  than  mine." 

"You  shall  not  do  that,  aunt,"  Clemence  interrupted, 
sitting  up  in  bed  and  trying  to  take  her  aunt's  hand. 
[i55] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"If  you  wish  that  your  discourteous  conduct  should 
rest  a  secret  between  us,  I  advise  you  to  get  rid  of  your 
neuralgia  this  very  day.  Now,  you  had  better  decide 
immediately 

"This  is  genuine  persecution,"  exclaimed  Madame 
de  Bergenheim,  falling  back  upon  her  bed  when  the 
old  lady  had  departed.  "He  has  bewitched  every- 
body !  Aline,  my  aunt,  and  my  husband ;  to  say  noth- 
ing of  myself,  for  I  shall  end  by  going  mad.  I  must 
end  this,  at  any  price."  She  rang  the  bell  violently. 

"Justine,"  said  she  to  her  maid,  "do  not  let  any  one 
enter  this  room  under  any  pretext  whatsoever,  and  do 
not  come  in  yourself  until  I  ring;  I  will  try  to  sleep." 

Justine  obeyed,  after  closing  the  blinds.  She  had 
hardly  gone  out  when  her  mistress  arose,  put  on  her 
dressing-gown  and  slippers  with  a  vivacity  which  be- 
tokened anger;  she  then  seated  herself  at  her  desk 
and  began  to  write  rapidly,  dashing  her  pen  over  the 
satiny  paper  without  troubling  herself  as  to  blots.  The 
last  word  was  ended  with  a  dash  as  energetically  drawn 
as  the  Napoleonic  flourish. 

When  a  young  man  who,  according  to  custom,  be- 
gins to  read  the  end  of  his  letters  first  finds  an  ara- 
besque of  this  style  at  the  bottom  of  a  lady's  letter, 
he  ought  to  arm  himself  with  patience  and  resignation 
before  he  reads  its  contents. 


[156] 


CHAPTER  X 

PLOTS 

evening,  when  Gerfaut  entered 
his  room  he  hardly  took  time  to 
place  the  candlestick  which  he  held 
in  his  hand  upon  the  mantel  before 
he  took  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  a 
paper  reduced  to  microscopic  dimen- 
sions, which  he  carried  to  his  lips 
and  kissed  passionately  before  open- 
ing. His  eyes  fell  first  upon  the  threatening  flourish 
of  the  final  word ;  this  word  was:  Adieu! 

"Hum!"  said  the  lover,  whose  exaltation  was  sensi- 
bly cooled  at  this  sight. 

He  read  the  whole  letter  with  one  glance  of  the  eye, 
darting  to  the  culminating  point  of  each  phrase  as  a 
deer  bounds  over  ledges  of  rocks;  he  weighed  the  plain 
meaning  as  well  as  the  innuendoes  of  the  slightest  ex- 
pression, like  a  rabbi  who  comments  upon  the  Bible, 
and  deciphered  the  erasures  with  the  patience  of  a 
seeker  after  hieroglyphics,  so  as  to  detach  from  them 
some  particle  of  the  idea  they  had  contained.  After 
analyzing  and  criticising  this  note  in  all  its  most  im- 
perceptible shades,  he  crushed  it  within  his  hand  and 
began  to  pace  the  floor,  uttering  from  time  to  time 
some  of  those  exclamations  which  the  Dictionnaire  de 
[i57] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

FAcadgmie  has  not  yet  decided  to  sanction;  for  all 
lovers  resemble  the  lazzaroni  who  kiss  San-Gennaro's 
feet  when  he  acts  well,  but  who  call  him  briconne  as 
soon  as  they  have  reason  to  complain  of  him.  How- 
ever, women  are  very  kind,  and  almost  invariably 
excuse  the  stones  that  an  angry  lover  throws  at  them 
in  such  moments  of  acute  disappointment,  and  will- 
ingly say  with  the  indulgent  smile  of  the  Roman 
emperor:  "I  feel  no  wound!" 

In  the  midst  of  this  paroxysm  of  furious  anger,  two 
or  three  knocks  resounded  behind  the  woodwork. 

"Are  you  composing?"  asked  a  voice  like  that  of  a 
ventriloquist;  "I  am  with  you." 

A  minute  later,  Marillac  appeared  upon  the  thresh- 
old, in  his  slippers  and  with  a  silk  handkerchief  tied 
about  his  head,  holding  his  candlestick  in  one  hand 
and  a  pipe  in  the  other;  he  stood  there  motionless. 

"You  are  fine,"  said  he,  "you  are  magnificent,  fatal 
and  accursed — You  remind  me  of  Kean  in  Othello. — 

"Have  you  pray'd  to-night,  Desdemona?" 

Gerfaut  gazed  at  him  with  frowning  brows,  but 
made  no  reply. 

"I  will  wager  that  it  is  the  last  scene  in  our  third 
act,"  replied  the  artist,  placing  his  candlestick  upon  the 
mantel;  "it  seems  that  it  is  to  be  very  tragic.  Now 
listen!  I  also  feel  the  poetical  afflatus  coming  over 
me,  and,  if  you  like,  we  will  set  about  devouring  paper 
like  two  boa-constrictors.  Speaking  of  serpents,  have 
you  a  rattle?  Ah,  yes!  Here  is  the  bell-rope.  I  was 
about  to  say  that  we  would  have  a  bowl  of  coffee.  Or 
[158] 


GERFAUT 

rather,  I  will  go  into  the  kitchen  myself;  I  am  very 
good  friends  with  Marianne,  the  cook;  besides,  the 
motto  of  the  house  of  Bergenheim  is  liberte,  libertas. 
Coffee  is  my  muse;  in  this  respect,  I  resemble  Vol- 
taire  » 

"Marillac!"  exclaimed  Gerfaut,  as  the  artist  was 
about  to  leave  the  room.  The  artist  turned,  and 
meekly  retraced  his  steps. 

"You  will  be  so  good  as  to  do  me  the  favor  of  re- 
turning to  your  room,"  said  Gerfaut.  "You  may 
work  or  you  may  sleep,  just  as  you  like;  between  us, 
you  would  do  well  to  sleep.  I  wish  to  be  alone." 

"You  say  that  as  if  you  meditated  an  attempt  upon 
your  illustrious  person.  Are  you  thinking  of  suicide? 
Let  us  see  whether  you  have  some  concealed  weapon, 
some  poisoned  ring.  Curse  upon  it!  the  poison  of  the 
Borgias!  Is  the  white  substance  in  this  china  bowl, 
vulgarly  called  sugar,  by  some  terrible  chance  infamous 
arsenic  disguised  under  the  appearance  of  an  honest 
colonial  commodity?" 

"Be  kind  enough  to  spare  your  jokes,"  said  Octave, 
as  his  friend  poked  about  in  all  the  corners  of  the 
room  with  an  affectation  of  anxiety,  "and,  as  I  can  not 
get  rid  of  you,  listen  to  my  opinion:  if  you  think  that 
I  brought  you  here  for  you  to  conduct  yourself  as  you 
have  for  the  last  two  days,  you  are  mistaken." 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"You  left  me  the  whole  morning  with  that  tiresome 

Bergenheim  on  my  hands,  and  I  verily  believe  he  made 

me  count  every  stick  in  his  park  and  every  frog  in  his 

pond.     To-night,  when  that  old  witch  of  Endor  pro- 

[i59] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

posed  her  infernal  game  of  whist,  to  which  it  seems  I 
am  to  be  condemned  daily,  you  excused  yourself  upon 
the  pretext  of  ignorance,  and  yet  you  play  as  good  a 
game  as  I." 

"I  can  not  endure  whist  at  twenty  sous  a  point." 

"Do  I  like  it  any  better?" 

"Well,  you  are  a  nice  fellow!  You  have  an  object  in 
view  which  should  make  you  swallow  all  these  dis- 
agreeable trifles  as  if  they  were  as  sweet  as  honey.  Is 
it  possible  you  would  like  me  to  play  Bertrand  and 
Raton ?  I  should  be  Raton  the  oftener  of  the  two!" 

"But,  really,  what  did  you  do  all  day?" 

Marillac  posed  before  the  mirror,  arranged  his  ker- 
chief about  his  head  in  a  more  picturesque  fashion, 
twisted  his  moustache,  puffed  out,  through  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  a  cloud  of  smoke,  which  surrounded  his 
face  like  a  London  fog,  then  turned  to  his  friend  and 
said,  with  the  air  of  a  person  perfectly  satisfied  with 
himself: 

"Upon  my  faith,  my  dear  friend,  each  one  for  him- 
self and  God  for  us  all!  You,  for  example,  indulge  in 
romantic  love-affairs;  you  must  have  titled  ladies. 
Titles  turn  your  head  and  make  you  exclusive.  You 
make  love  to  the  aristocracy;  so  be  it,  that  is  your 
own  concern.  As  for  me,  I  have  another  system;  I 
am,  in  all  matters  of  sentiment,  what  I  am  in  poli- 
tics: I  want  republican  institutions." 

"What  is  all  that  nonsense  about?" 

"Let  me  tell  you.  I  want  universal  suffrage,  the 
cooperation  of  all  citizens,  admission  to  all  offices, 
general  elections,  a  popular  government,  in  a  word, 
[160] 


GERFAUT 

a  sound,  patriotic  hash.  Which  means  regarding 
women  that  I  carry  them  all  in  my  heart,  that  I  recog- 
nize between  them  no  distinction  of  caste  or  rank. 
Article  First  of  my  set  of  laws:  all  women  are  equal 
in  love,  provided  they  are  young,  pretty,  admirably 
attractive  in  shape  and  carriage,  above  all,  not  too 
thin." 

"And  what  of  equality?" 

"So  much  the  worse.  With  this  eminently  liberal 
and  constitutional  policy,  I  intend  to  gather  all  the 
flowers  that  will  allow  themselves  to  be  gathered  by 
me,  without  one  being  esteemed  more  fresh  than  an- 
other, because  it  belongs  to  the  nobility,  or  another  less 
sweet,  because  plebeian.  And  as  field  daisies  are  a 
little  more  numerous  than  imperial  roses,  it  follows 
that  I  very  often  stoop.  That  is  the  reason  why,  at 
this  very  moment,  I  am  up  to  my  ears  in  a  little  rustic 
love  affair: 

Simple  et  naive  bergerette,  die  regne " 

"Stop  that  noise;  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil's 
room  is  just  underneath." 

"I  will  tell  you  then,  since  I  must  give  an  account 
of  myself,  that  I  went  into  the  park  to  sketch  a  few 
fir-trees  before  dinner;  they  are  more  beautiful  of 
their  kind  than  the  ancient  Fontainebleau  oaks.  That 
is  for  art.  At  dinner,  I  dined  nobly  and  well.  To  do 
the  Bergenheims  justice,  they  live  in  a  royal  manner. 
That  is  for  the  stomach.  Afterward  I  stealthily  or- 
dered a  horse  to  be  saddled  and  rode  to  La  Faucon- 
nerie  in  a  trice,  where  I  presented  the  expression  of 
ii  [161] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

my  adoration  to  Mademoiselle  Reine  Gobillot,  a  minor 
yet,  but  enjoying  her  full  rights  already.  That  is  for 
the  heart." 

"Indeed!" 

"No  sarcasm,  if  you  please;  not  everybody  can 
share  your  taste  for  princesses,  who  make  you  go  a 
hundred  leagues  to  follow  them  and  then  upon  your 
arrival,  only  give  you  the  tip  of  a  glove  to  kiss.  Such 
intrigues  are  not  to  my  fancy. 

Je  suis  sergent, 
Brave " 

"Again,  I  say,  will  you  stop  that  noise?  Don't  you 
know  that  I  have  nobody  on  my  side  at  present  but 
this  respectable  dowager  on  the  first  floor  below?  If 
she  supposes  that  I  am  making  all  this  racket  over  her 
head  we  shall  be  deadly  enemies  by  to-morrow." 

"Zitto,  zitto,  piano,  piano, 
Senza  strepito  e  rumor  e" 

replied  Marillac,  putting  his  finger  to  his  lips  and 
lowering  his  voice.  "What  you  say  is  a  surprise  to 
me.  From  the  way  in  which  you  offered  your  arm  to 
Madame  de  Bergenheim  to  lead  her  into  the  drawing- 
room  after  supper,  I  thought  you  understood  each 
other  perfectly.  As  I  was  returning,  for  I  made  it  my 
duty  to  offer  my  arm  to  the  old  lady — and  you  say  that 
I  do  nothing  for  you — it  seemed  to  me  that  I  noticed 
a  meeting  of  hands — You  know  that  I  have  an  eagle 
eye.  She  slipped  a  note  into  your  hand  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Marillac." 

[162] 


GERFAUT 

Gerfaut  took  the  note  which  he  held  crumpled  up 
in  his  hand,  and  held  it  in  the  flame  of  one  of  the  can- 
dles. The  paper  ignited,  and  in  less  than  a  second 
nothing  of  it  remained  but  a  few  dark  pieces  which 
fell  into  ashes  upon  the  marble  mantel. 

"You  burn  it!  You  are  wrong,"  said  the  artist; 
"as  for  me,  I  keep  everything,  letters  and  hair.  When 
I  am  old,  I  shall  have  the  letters  to  read  evenings,  and 
shall  weave  an  allegorical  picture  with  the  hair.  I 
shall  hang  it  before  my  desk,  so  as  to  have  before  me 
a  souvenir  of  the  adorable  creatures  who  furnished  the 
threads.  I  will  answer  for  it  that  there  will  be  every 
shade  in  it  from  that  of  Camille  Hautier,  my  first  love, 
who  was  an  albino,  to  this  that  I  have  here." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  par- 
cel from  which  he  drew  a  lock  of  coal-black  hair, 
which  he  spread  out  upon  his  hand. 

"Did  you  pull  this  hair  from  Titania's  mane?" 
asked  Gerfaut,  as  he  drew  through  his  ringers  the  more 
glossy  than  silky  lock,  which  he  ridiculed  by  this  iron- 
ical supposition. 

"They  might  be  softer,  I  admit,"  replied  Maril- 
lac  negligently;  and  he  examined  the  lock  submitted 
to  this  merciless  criticism  as  if  it  were  simply  a  piece  of 
goods,  of  the  fineness  of  whose  texture  he  wished  to 
assure  himself. 

"You  will  admit  at  least  that  the  color  is  beautiful, 
and  the  quantity  makes  up  for  the  quality.  Upon  my 
word,  this  poor  Reine  has  given  me  enough  to  make 
a  pacha's  banner.  Provincial  and  primitive  simplicity! 
I  know  of  one  woman  in  particular  who  never  gave  an 
[163] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

adorer  more  than  seven  of  her  hairs;  and  yet,  at  the 
end  of  three  years,  this  cautious  beauty  was  obliged  to 
wear  a  false  front.  All  her  hair  had  disappeared. 

"Are  you  like  me,  Octave?  The  first  thing  I  ask 
for  is  one  of  these  locks.  Women  rather  like  this 
sort  of  childishness,  and  when  they  have  granted  you 
that,  it  is  a  snare  spread  for  them  which  catches 
them." 

Marillac  took  the  long,  dark  tress  and  held  it  near 
the  candle;  but  his  movement  was  so  poorly  calcu- 
lated that  the  hair  caught  fire  and  was  instantly  de- 
stroyed. 

"A  bad  sign,"  exclaimed  Gerfaut,  who  could  not 
help  laughing  at  his  friend's  dismayed  look. 

"This  is  a  day  of  auios-da-jt"  said  the  artist,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair;  "but  bah!  small  loss;  if  Reine  asks 
to  see  this  lock,  I  will  tell  her  that  I  destroyed  it  with 
kisses.  That  always  flatters  them,  and  I  am  sure  it 
will  please  this  little  field-flower.  It  is  a  fact  that  she 
has  cheeks  like  rosy  apples!  On  my  way  back  I 
thought  of  a  vaudeville  that  I  should  like  to  write 
about  this.  Only  I  should  lay  the  scene  in  Switzer- 
land and  I  should  call  the  young  woman  Betty  or 
Kettly  instead  of  Reine,  a  name  ending  in  'Y'  which 
would  rhyme  with  Rutly,  on  account  of  local  peculiari- 
ties. Will  you  join  in  it?  I  have  almost  finished  the 
scenario.  First  scene — Upon  the  rising  of  the  curtain, 
harvesters  are  discovered — 

"Will  you  do  me  the  favor  of  going  to  bed?"  inter- 
rupted Gerfaut. 

"Chorus  of  harvesters: 

[164] 


GERFAUT 

De]h  Vaurore 
Qui  se  colore — " 

"If  you  do  not  leave  me  alone,  I  will  throw  the  con- 
tents of  this  water-pitcher  at  your  head." 

"I  never  have  seen  you  in  such  a  surly  temper.  It 
looks  indeed  as  if  your  divinity  had  treated  you  cruelly." 

"She  has  treated  me  shamefully!"  exclaimed  the 
lover,  whose  anger  was  freshly  kindled  at  this  ques- 
tion; "she  has  treated  me  as  one  would  treat  a  barber's 
boy.  This  note,  which  I  just  burned,  was  a  most 
formal,  unpleasant,  insolent  dismissal.  This  woman 
is  a  monster,  do  you  understand  me?" 

"A  monster!  your  angel,  a  monster!"  said  Maril- 
lac,  suppressing  with  difficulty  a  violent  outburst  of 
laughter. 

"She,  an  angel?  I  must  say  that  she  is  a  demon — 
This  woman — 

"Do  you  not  adore  her?" 

"I  hate  her,  I  abhor  her,  she  makes  me  shudder. 
You  may  laugh,  if  you  like!" 

As  he  said  these  words,  Gerfaut  struck  a  violent 
blow  upon  the  table  with  his  fist. 

"You  forget  that  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil's 
room  is  just  beneath  us,"  said  the  artist,  in  a  teasing 
way. 

"Listen  to  me,  Marillac!  Your  system  with  women 
is  vulgar,  gross,  and  trivial.  The  daisies  which  you 
gather,  the  maidens  from  whom  you  cut  handfuls  of 
hair  excellent  for  stuffing  mattresses,  your  rustic  beau 
ties  with  cheeks  like  rosy  apples  are  conquests  worthy 
of  counter-jumpers  in  their  Sunday  clothes.  That  is 
[165] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

nothing  but  the  very  lowest  grade  of  love-making,  and 
yet  you  are  right,  a  thousand  times  right,  and  wonder- 
fully wise  compared  with  me." 

"You  do  me  too  much  honor!  So,  then,  you  are  not 
loved?" 

"Truly,  I  had  an  idea  I  was,  or,  if  I  was  not  loved 
to-day,  I  hoped  to  be  to-morrow.  But  you  are  mis- 
taken as  to  what  discourages  me.  I  simply  fear  that 
her  heart  is  narrow.  I  believe  that  she  loves  me  as 
much  as  she  is  able  to  love;  unfortunately,  that  is  not 
enough  for  me." 

"It  certainly  seems  to  me  that,  so  far,  she  has  not 
shown  herself  madly  in  love  with  you." 

"Ah,  madly!  Do  you  know  many  women  who  love 
madly  with  their  hearts  and  souls?  You  talk  like  a 
college  braggart.  There  are  conquerors  like  yourself 
who,  if  we  are  to  believe  them,  would  devour  a  whole 
convent  at  their  breakfast.  These  men  excite  my 
pity.  As  for  me,  really,  I  have  always  felt  that  it  was 
most  difficult  to  make  one's  self  really  loved.  In  these 
days  of  prudery,  almost  all  women  of  rank  appear 
jrappe  &  la  glace,  like  a  bottle  of  champagne.  It  is 
necessary  to  thaw  them  first,  and  there  are  some  of 
them  whose  shells  are  so  frigid  that  they  would  put 
out  the  devil's  furnace.  They  call  this  virtue;  I  call 
it  social  servitude.  But  what  matters  the  name?  the 
result  is  the  same." 

"But,  really,  are  you  sure  that  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim  loves  you?"  asked  Marillac,  emphasizing  the 
word  "love"  so  strongly  as  to  attract  his  friend's  atten- 
tion. 

[i66J 


GERFAUT 

"Sure?  of  course  I  am!"  replied  the  latter.  "Why 
do  you  ask  me?" 

"Because,  when  you  are  not  quite  so  angry,  I  want 
to  ask  you  something."  He  hesitated  a  moment.  "If 
you  learned  that  she  cares  more  for  another  than  for 
you,  what  would  you  do?" 

Gerfaut  looked  at  him  and  smiled  disdainfully. 

"Listen!"  said  he,  "you  have  heard  me  storm  and 
curse,  and  you  took  this  nonsense  for  genuine  hatred. 
My  good  fellow!  do  you  know  why  I  raved  in  such 
a  manner  ?  It  was  because,  knowing  my  temperament, 
I  felt  the  necessity  of  getting  angry  and  giving  vent  to 
what  was  in  my  heart.  If  I  had  not  employed  this 
infallible  remedy,  the  annoyance  which  this  note 
caused  me  would  have  disturbed  my  nerves  all 
night,  and  when  I  do  not  sleep  my  complexion  is 
more  leaden  than  usual  and  I  have  dark  rings  under 
my  eyes." 

"Fop!" 

"Simpleton!" 

"Why  simpleton?" 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  dandy?  Do  you  not  under- 
stand why  I  wish  to  sleep  soundly?  It  is  simply  be- 
cause I  do  not  wish  to  appear  before  her  with  a  face 
like  a  ghost.  That  would  be  all  that  was  needed  to 
encourage  her  in  her  severity.  I  shall  take  good  care 
that  she  does  not  discover  how  hard  her  last  thrust 
has  hit  me.  I  would  give  you  a  one-hundred-franc 
note  if  I  could  secure  for  to-morrow  morning  your 
alderman's  face  and  your  complexion  a  la  Teniers." 

"Thanks,  we  are  not  masquerading  just  at  present. 
[167] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Nevertheless,  all  that  you  have  said  does  not  prove  in 
the  slightest  that  she  loves  you." 

"My  dear  Marillac,  words  may  have  escaped  me  in 
my  anger  which  have  caused  you  to  judge  hastily. 
Now  that  I  am  calm  and  that  my  remedy  has  brought 
back  my  nervous  system  to  its  normal  state,  I  will 
explain  to  you  my  real  position.  She  is  my  Galatea, 
I  her  Pygmalion.  'An  allegory  as  old  as  the  world,' 
you  are  about  to  say;  old  or  not,  it  is  my  true  story. 
I  have  not  yet  broken  the  marble — virtue,  education, 
propriety,  duty,  prejudices — which  covers  the  flesh  of 
my  statue;  but  I  am  nearing  my  goal  and  I  shall 
reach  it.  Her  desperate  resistance  is  the  very  proof 
of  my  progress.  It  is  a  terrible  step  for  a  woman  to 
take,  from  No  to  Yes.  My  Galatea  begins  to  feel  the 
blows  from  my  heart  over  her  heart  and  she  is  afraid 
— afraid  of  the  world,  of  me,  of  her  husband,  of  herself, 
of  heaven  and  hell.  Do  you  not  adore  women  who  are 
afraid  of  everything?  She,  love  another!  never!  It 
is  written  in  all  eternity  that  she  shall  be  mine.  What 
did  you  wish  to  say  to  me?" 

"Nothing,  since  you  are  so  sure  of  her." 

"Sure — more  than  of  my  eternal  life!  But  I  wish 
to  know  what  you  mean." 

"But  you  won't  be  told.  Just  a  suspicion  that  came 
to  me;  something  that  was  told  to  me  the  other  day; 
a  conjecture  so  vague  that  it  would  be  useless  to  dwell 
upon  it." 

"I  am  not  good  at  guessing  enigmas,"  said  Octave, 
in  a  dry  tone. 

"We  will  speak  of  this  again  to-morrow." 
[168] 


GERFAUT 

"As  you  like,"  replied  the  lover,  with  somewhat 
affected  indifference.  "If  you  wish  to  play  the  part  of 
lago  with  me,  I  warn  you  I  am  not  disposed  to  jeal- 
ousy." 

"  To-morrow,  I  tell  you,  I  shall  enlighten  myself  as 
to  this  affair;  whatever  the  result  of  my  inquiries  may 
be,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  After  all,  it  was  nothing 
but  woman's  gossip." 

"Very  well,  take  your  time.  But  I  have  another 
favor  to  ask  of  you.  To-morrow  I  shall  try  to  per- 
suade the  ladies  to  take  a  walk  in  the  park.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Corandeuil  will  probably  not  go;  you  must 
do  me  the  favor  of  sticking  to  Bergenheim  and  the 
little  sister,  and  gradually  to  walk  on  ahead  of  us,  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  me  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
with  this  cruel  creature  alone  for  a  few  moments;  for' 
she  has  given  me  to  understand  that  I  shall  not  suc- 
ceed in  speaking  with  her  alone  under  any  circum- 
stances, and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should 
do  so." 

"There  will  be  one  difficulty  in  the  way,  though — 
they  expect  about  twenty  persons  at  dinner,  and  all 
her  time  will  probably  be  taken  up  with  her  duties 
as  hostess." 

"That  is  true,"  exclaimed  Gerfaut,  jumping  up  so 
suddenly  that  he  upset  his  chair. 

"You  still  forget  that  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil's 
room  is  beneath  us." 

"The  devil  is  playing  her  hand!"  exclaimed  the 
lover,  as  he  paced  the  room  in  long  strides.     "I  wish 
that  during  the  night  he  would  wring  the  neck  of  all 
[169] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

these  visitors.  Now,  then,  she  has  her  innings.  To- 
day and  to-morrow  this  little  despot's  battle  of  Ligny 
will  be  fought  and  won;  but  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
look  out  for  her  Waterloo!" 

"Good-night,  my  Lord  Wellington,"  said  Marillac, 
as  he  arose  and  took  up  his  candlestick. 

"Good-night,  lago!  Ah!  you  think  you  have  an- 
noyed me  with  your  mysterious  words  and  melodra- 
matic reticence?" 

"To-morrow!  to-morrow!"  replied  the  artist  as  he 
left  the  room. 

"Ce  secret-la 
Se  trahira." 


[170] 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  QUARREL 

IE  next  morning,  before  most  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  chateau  had  thought 
of  leaving  their  beds,  or  at  least  their 
rooms,  a  man,  on  horseback,  and 
alone,  took  his  departure  through  a 
door  opening  from  the  stable-yard 
into  the  park.  He  wore  a  long 
travelling  redingote  trimmed  with 
braid  and  fur,  rather  premature  clothing  for  the  sea- 
son, but  which  the  sharp  cold  air  that  was  blowing  at 
this  moment  made  appear  very  comfortable.  He  gal- 
loped away,  and  continued  this  pace  for  about  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile,  in  spite  of  the  unevenness  of  the 
road,  which  followed  a  nearly  straight  line  over  hilly 
ground.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  decide  which 
to  admire  more,  the  horse's  limbs  or  the  rider's  lungs; 
for  the  latter,  during  this  rapid  ride,  had  sung  without 
taking  breath,  so  to  speak,  the  whole  overture  to  Wil- 
helm  Tell.  We  must  admit  that  the  voice  in  which  he 
sang  the  andante  of  the  Swiss  mountaineer's  chorus 
resembled  a  reed  pipe  more  than  a  hautboy;  but,  to 
make  amends  when  he  reached  the  presto,  his  voice, 
a  rather  good  bass,  struck  the  horse's  ears  with  such 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

force  that  the  latter  redoubled  his  vigor  as  if  this  mel- 
ody had  produced  upon  him  the  effect  of  a  trumpet 
sounding  the  charge  on  the  day  of  battle. 

The  traveller,  whom  we  have  probably  recognized 
by  his  musical  feat,  concluded  his  concert  by  stopping 
at  the  entrance  to  some  woods  which  extended  from 
the  top  of  the  rocks  to  the  river,  breaking,  here  and 
there,  the  uniformity  of  the  fields.  After  gazing  about 
him  for  some  time,  he  left  the  road  and,  entering  the 
woods  on  the  right,  stopped  at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree. 
Near  this  tree  was  a  very  small  brook,  which  took  its 
source  not  far  away  and  descended  with  a  sweet  mur- 
mur to  the  river,  making  a  narrow  bed  in  the  clayey 
ground  which  it  watered.  Such  was  the  modesty  of 
its  course  that  a  little  brighter  green  and  fresher  grass 
a  few  feet  away  from  it  were  the  only  indications  of  its 
presence.  Nothing  was  wanting  to  make  this  an  idyl- 
lic place  for  a  rendezvous,  neither  the  protecting  shade, 
the  warbling  of  birds  in  the  trees,  the  picturesque  land- 
scape surrounding  it,  nor  the  soft  grass. 

After  dismounting  from  his  steed  and  tying  him  to 
the  branches  of  an  oak,  thus  conforming  to  the  time- 
honored  custom  of  lovers,  the  cavalier  struck  his  foot 
upon  the  ground  three  or  four  times  to  start  the  cir- 
culation in  his  legs,  and  then  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
very  pretty  Breguet  watch. 

"Ten  minutes  past  eight,"  said  he;  "I  am  late  and 
yet  I  am  early.  It  looks  as  if  the  clocks  at  La  Fau- 
connerie  were  not  very  well  regulated."  He  walked 
up  and  down  with  a  quick  step  whistling  with  a  ven- 
geance: 

[172] 


GERFAUT 

"Quand  je  quittai  la  Normandie —  1  * 

J' attends — ?  attends — " 

a  refrain  which  the  occasion  brought  to  his  mind. 
When  this  pastime  was  exhausted  he  had  recourse  to 
another,  the  nature  of  which  proved  that  if  the  ex- 
pected beauty  had  not  punctuality  for  a  virtue,  she  was 
not  one  of  those  little  exacting  creatures  always  ready 
to  faint  or  whose  delicate  nerves  make  them  intolerant  of 
their  lovers'  imperfections.  Plunging  his  hand  into  one 
of  the  pockets  in  his  redingote,  the  waiting  cavalier  drew 
out  a  sealskin  case  rilled  with  Havana  cigars,  and,  light- 
ing one,  began  to  smoke,  while  continuing  his  promenade. 

But  at  the  end  of  a  few  moments  this  palliative,  like 
the  first,  had  exhausted  its  effect. 

"Twenty-five  minutes  past  eight!"  exclaimed  Maril- 
lac,  as  he  looked  at  his  watch  a  second  time;  "I  should 
like  to  know  what  this  little  miniature  rose  takes  me 
for  ?  It  was  hardly  worth  the  trouble  of  overstraining 
this  poor  horse,  who  looks  as  wet  as  if  he  had  come  out 
of  the  river.  It  is  enough  to  give  him  inflammation  of 
the  lungs.  If  Bergenheim  were  to  see  him  sweating 
and  panting  like  this  in  this  bleak  wind,  he  would  give 
me  a  sound  blowing-up.  Upon  my  word,  it  is  becom- 
ing comical!  There  are  no  more  young  girls!  I  shall 
see  her  appear  presently  as  spruce  and  conceited  as  if 
she  had  been  playing  the  finest  trick  in  the  world.  It 
will  do  for  once;  but  if  we  sojourn  in  these  quarters 
some  time  yet,  she  must  be  educated  and  taught  to 
say,  'If  you  please'  and  'Thanks.'  Ah!  ha!  she  has 
no  idea  what  sort  of  man  she  is  dealing  with!  Half 
past  eight!  If  she  is  not  here  in  five  minutes  I  shall 
[i73] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

go  to  La  Fauconnerie  and  raise  a  terrible  uproar.  I 
will  break  every  bit  of  crockery  there  is  in  the  Femme- 
sans-Tete  with  blows  from  my  whip.  What  can  I  do 
to  kill  time?"  He  raised  his  head  quickly,  as  he  felt 
himself  suddenly  almost  smothered  under  a  shower  of 
dust.  This  was  a  fatal  movement  for  him,  for  his  eyes 
received  part  of  the  libation  destined  for  his  hair.  He 
closed  them  with  a  disagreeable  sensation,  after  seeing 
Mademoiselle  Reine  Gobillot's  fresh,  chubby  face,  her 
figure  prim  beyond  measure  in  a  lilac-and-green  plaid 
gingham  dress,  and  carrying  a  basket  on  her  arm,  a 
necessary  burden  to  maidens  of  a  certain  class  who 
play  truant. 

"What  sort  of  breeding  is  this?"  exclaimed  Maril- 
lac,  rubbing  his  eyes;  "you  have  made  me  dance  at- 
tendance for  an  hour  and  now  you  have  blinded  me. 
I  do  not  like  this  at  all,  you  understand." 

"How  you  scold  me,  just  for  a  little  pinch  of  dust!" 
replied  Reine,  turning  as  red  as  a  cherry  as  she  threw 
the  remainder  of  the  handful  which  she  had  taken 
from  a  mole-heap  close  by  them. 

"It  is  because  it  smarts  like  the  devil,"  replied  the 
artist,  in  a  milder  tone,  for  he  realized  the  ridiculous- 
ness of  his  anger;  "since  you  have  hurt  me,  try  at 
least  to  ease  the  pain;  they  say  that  to  blow  in  the 
eye  will  cure  it." 

"No.  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind— I  don't  like  to 
be  spoken  to  harshly." 

The  artist  arose  at  once  as  he  saw  the  young  girl 
make  a  movement  as  if  to  go;   he  put  his  arm  about 
her  waist  and  half  forced  her  to  sit  beside  him. 
[i74] 


GERFAUT 

"The  grass  is  damp  and  I  shall  stain  my  dress," 
said  she,  as  a  last  resistance. 

A  handkerchief  was  at  once  spread  upon  the  ground, 
in  lieu  of  a  carpet,  by  the  lover,  who  had  suddenly  be- 
come very  polite  again. 

"Now,  my  dear  Reine,"  continued  he,  "will  you  tell 
me  why  you  come  so  late  ?  Do  you  know  that  for  an 
hour  I  have  been  tearing  my  hair  in  despair?" 

"Perhaps  the  dust  will  make  it  grow  again,"  she  re- 
plied, with  a  malicious  glance  at  Marillac,  whose  head 
was  powdered  with  brown  dust  as  if  a  tobacco-box  had 
been  emptied  upon  it. 

"Naughty  girl!"  he  exclaimed,  laughing,  although 
his  eyes  looked  as  if  he  were  crying;  and,  acting  upon 
the  principle  of  retaliation  less  odious  in  love  than  in 
war,  he  tried  to  snatch  a  kiss  to  punish  her. 

"Stop  that,  Monsieur  Marillac!  you  know  very  well 
what  you  promised  me." 

"To  love  you  forever,  you  entrancing  creature,"  said 
he,  in  the  voice  of  a  crocodile  that  sighs  to  attract  his 
prey. 

Reine  pursed  up  her  lips  and  assumed  important 
airs,  but,  in  order  to  obey  the  feminine  instinct  which 
prescribes  changing  the  subject  of  conversation  after 
too  direct  an  avowal,  with  the  firm  intention  of  return- 
ing to  it  later  through  another  channel,  she  said: 

"What  were  you  doing  just  as  I  arrived?  You 
were  so  busy  you  did  not  hear  me  coming.  You  were 
so  droll;  you  waved  your  arms  in  the  air  and  struck 
your  forehead  as  you  talked." 

"I  was  thinking  of  you." 

[175] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"But  it  was  not  necessary,  in  order  to  do  that,  to 
strike  your  head  with  your  fist.  It  must  have  hurt 
you." 

"Adorable  woman!"  exclaimed  the  artist,  in  a  pas- 
sionate tone. 

"Mon  Dieu  I  how  you  frighten  me.  If  I  had  known 
I  would  not  have  come  here  at  all.  I  must  go  away 
directly." 

"Leave  me  already,  queen  of  my  heart!  No!  do 
not  expect  to  do  that ;  I  would  sooner  lose  my  life — 

"Will  you  stop!  what  if  some  one  should  hear  you? 
they  might  be  passing,"  said  Reine,  gazing  anxiously 
about  her.  "If  you  knew  how  frightened  I  was  in 
coming!  I  told  mamma  that  I  was  going  to  the  mill 
to  see  my  uncle;  but  that  horrid  old  Lambernier  met 
me  just  as  I  entered  the  woods.  What  shall  I  do  if  he 
tells  that  he  saw  me?  This  is  not  the  road  to  the 
mill.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  has  not  followed  me! 
I  should  be  in  a  pretty  plight!" 

"You  can  say  that  you  came  to  gather  berries  or 
nuts,  or  to  hear  the  nightingale  sing;  Mother  Gobil- 
lot  will  not  think  anything  of  it.  Who  is  this  Lam- 
bernier?" 

"You  know — the  carpenter.  You  saw  him  at  our 
house  the  other  day." 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  Marillac,  with  interest,  "the  one 
who  was  turned  away  from  the  chateau?" 

"Yes,  and  they  did  well  to  do  it,  too;  he  is  a  down- 
right bad  man." 

"He  is  the  one  who  told  you  something  about  Ma- 
dame de  Bergenheim.  Tell  me  the  story.  Your 
[176] 


GERFAUT 

mother  interrupted  us  yesterday  just  as  you  began  tell- 
ing it  to  me. — What  was  it  that  he  said?" 

"Oh!  falsehoods  probably.  One  can  not  believe 
anything  that  he  says." 

"But  what  did  he  tell  you?" 

"What  difference  does  it  make  to  you  what  is  said 
about  the  Baroness?"  replied  the  young  girl,  rather 
spitefully,  as  she  saw  that  Marillac  was  not  occupied 
in  thinking  of  her  exclusively. 

"Pure  curiosity.  He  told  you  then  that  he  would 
tell  the  Baron  what  he  knew,  and  that  the  latter  would 
give  him  plenty  of  money  to  make  him  keep  silent?" 

"It  makes  no  difference  what  he  told  me.  Ask  him 
if  you  wish  to  know.  Why  did  you  not  stay  at  the 
chateau  if  you  can  think  only  of  the  Baroness?  Are 
you  in  love  with  her?" 

"I  am  in  love  with  you,  my  dear.  [The  devil  take 
me  if  she  is  not  jealous  now!  How  shall  I  make  her 
talk?]  I  am  of  the  same  opinion  as  you,"  he  replied, 
in  a  loud  voice,  "that  all  this  talk  of  Lambernier's  is 
pure  calumny." 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  it.  He  is  well  known 
about  the  place;  he  has  a  wicked  tongue  and  watches 
everything  that  one  does  or  says  in  order  to  report  it 
at  cross-purposes.  Man  Dieu!  suppose  he  should 
make  some  story  out  of  his  seeing  me  enter  these 
woods!" 

"Madame  de  Bergenheim,"  continued  the  artist, 
with  affectation,  "is  certainly  far  above  the  gossip  of 
a  scoundrel  of  this  kind." 

Reine  pursed  up  her  lips,  but  made  no  reply. 
12  [177] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"She  has  too  many  good  qualities  and  virtues  for 
people  to  believe  anything  he  says." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  there  are  hypocrites  among  the 
Parisian  ladies  as  well  as  elsewhere,"  said  the  young 
girl,  with  a  sour  look. 

"Bless  me!"  thought  Marillac,  "we  have  it  now. 
I'd  wager  my  last  franc  that  I'll  loosen  her  tongue." 

"Madame  de  Bergenheim,"  he  replied,  emphasizing 
each  word,  "is  such  a  good  woman,  so  sensible  and  so 
pretty!" 

"Mon  Dieu!  say  that  you  love  her  at  once,  then — 
that'll  be  plain  talk,"  exclaimed  Reine,  suddenly  dis- 
engaging herself  from  the  arm  which  was  still  about 
her  waist.  "A  great  lady  who  has  her  carriages  and 
footmen  in  livery  is  a  conquest  to  boast  of!  While  a 
country  girl,  who  has  only  her  virtue " 

She  lowered  her  eyes  with  an  air  of  affected  modesty, 
and  did  not  finish  her  sentence. 

"A  virtue  which  grants  a  rendezvous  at  the  end  of 
three  days'  acquaintance,  and  in  the  depths  of  the 
woods!  That  is  amusing!"  thought  the  artist. 

"Still,  you  will  not  be  the  first  of  the  fine  lady's 
lovers,"  she  continued,  raising  her  head  and  trying  to 
conceal  her  vexation  under  an  ironical  air. 

"These  are  falsehoods." 

"Falsehoods,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  know  what  I 
am  speaking  about!  Lambernier  is  not  a  liar." 

'Lambernier   is   not   a   liar?"    repeated   a   harsh, 
hoarse  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  cavity 
of  the  tree  under  which  they  were  seated.     "Who  has 
said  that  Lambernier  was  a  liar?" 
[178] 


GERFAUT 

At  the  same  moment,  the  carpenter  in  person  sud- 
denly appeared  upon  the  scene.  He  stood  before  the 
amazed  pair  with  his  brown  coat  thrown  over  his 
shoulders,  as  usual,  and  his  broad-brimmed  gray  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  ears,  gazing  at  them  with  his 
deep,  ugly  eyes  and  a  sardonic  laugh  escaping  from 
his  lips. 

Mademoiselle  Reine  uttered  a  shriek  as  if  she  had 
seen  Satan  rise  up  from  the  ground  at  her  feet;  Mar- 
iliac  rose  with  a  bound  and  seized  his  whip. 

"You  are  a  very  insolent  fellow,"  said  he,  in  his 
ringing  bass  voice.  " Go  your  way!" 

"I  receive  no  such  orders,"  replied  the  workman,  in 
a  tone  which  justified  the  epithet  which  had  just  been 
bestowed  upon  him;  "we  are  upon  public  ground,  and 
I  have  a  right  to  be  here  as  well  as  you." 

"If  you  do  not  take  to  your  heels  at  once,"  said  the 
artist,  becoming  purple  with  rage,  "I  will  cut  your 
face  in  two." 

"Apples  are  sometimes  cut  in  two,"  said  Lamber- 
nier,  sneeringly  advancing  his  face  with  an  air  of 
bravado.  "My  face  is  not  afraid  of  your  whip;  you 
can  not  frighten  me  because  you  are  a  gentleman  and 
I  am  a  workman!  I  snap  my  fingers  at  bourgeois 
like " 

This  time  he  did  not  have  time  to  finish  his  com- 
parison; a  blow  from  the  whip  cut  him  in  the  face 
and  made  him  reel  in  spite  of  himself. 

"By  heaven!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  like  thunder, 
"may  I  lose  my  name  if  I  do  not  polish  you  off  well!" 

He  threw  his  coat  on  the  grass,  spat  in  his  hands 
[i79] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

and  rubbed  them  together,  assuming  the  position  of  an 
athlete  ready  for  a  boxing-bout. 

Mademoiselle  Gobillot,  arose,  trembling  with  fright 
at  this  demonstration,  and  uttered  two  or  three  inar- 
ticulate cries;  but,  instead  of  throwing  herself  between 
the  combatants  in  the  approved  style,  she  ran  away 
as  fast  as  she  could. 

Although  the  weapons  of  the  adversaries  were  not 
of  a  nature  to  spill  blood  upon  the  turf,  there  was 
something  warlike  about  their  countenances  which 
would  have  done  honor  to  ancient  paladins.  Lamber- 
nier  squatting  upon  his  legs,  according  to  the  rules  of 
pugilism,  and  with  his  fists  on  a  level  with  his  shoul- 
ders, resembled,  somewhat,  a  cat  ready  to  bound  upon 
its  prey.  The  artist  stood  with  his  body  thrown  back- 
ward, his  legs  on  a  tension,  his  chin  buried  up  to  his 
moustache  in  the  fur  collar  of  his  coat,  with  whip  low- 
ered, watching  all  his  adversary's  movements  with  a 
steady  eye.  When  he  saw  the  carpenter  advancing 
toward  him,  he  raised  his  arm  and  gave  him  on  the 
left  side  a  second  lash  from  his  whip,  so  vigorously 
applied  that  the  workman  beat  a  retreat  once  more, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  roaring: 

"Thunder!    I'll  finish  you " 

He  put  his  hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets  and  drew 
out  one  of  those  large  iron  compasses  such  as  carpen- 
ters use,  and  opened  it  with  a  rapid  movement.  He 
then  seized  it  in  the  centre  and  was  thus  armed  with 
a  sort  of  double-pointed  stiletto,  which  he  brandished 
with  a  threatening  gesture. 

Marillac,  at  this  sight,  drew  back  a  few  paces,  passed 
[180] 


GERFAUT 

his  whip  to  his  left  hand  and,  arming  himself  with  his 
Corsican  poniard,  placed  himself  in  a  position  of  defence. 

" My  friend,"  said  he,  with  perfect  deliberation,  "my 
needle  is  shorter  than  yours,  but  it  pricks  better.  If 
you  take  one  step  nearer  me,  if  you  raise  your  hand, 
I  will  bleed  you  like  a  wild  boar." 

Seeing  the  firm  attitude  of  the  artist,  whose  solid 
figure  seemed  to  denote  rather  uncommon  vigor,  and 
whose  moustache  and  sparkling  eyes  gave  him  a  rather 
formidable  aspect  at  this  moment;  above  all,  when  he 
saw  the  large,  sharp  blade  of  the  poniard,  Lamber- 
nier  stopped. 

"By  the  gods!"  exclaimed  Marillac,  who  saw  that 
his  bold  looks  had  produced  their  effect,  "you  are  a 
Provencal,  and  I  a  Gascon.  You  have  a  quick  hand, 
comrade — 

"But,  by  Jove!  you  are  the  one  who  has  the  quick 
hand;  you  struck  me  with  your  whip  as  if  I  had  been 
a  horse.  You  have  put  my  eye  almost  out.  Do  you 
imagine  that  I  am  well  provided  for  like  yourself  and 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  flirt  with  girls?  I  need  my 
eyes  in  order  to  work,  by  God!  Because  you  are  a 
bourgeois  and  I  am  a  workman " 

"I  am  not  more  of  a  bourgeois  than  you,"  replied 
the  artist,  rather  glad  to  see  his  adversary's  fury  ex- 
haust itself  in  words,  and  his  attitude  assume  a  less 
threatening  character;  "pick  up  your  compass  and  re- 
turn to  your  work.  Here,"  he  added,  taking  two  five- 
franc  pieces  from  his  pocket.  "You  were  a  little  boor- 
ish and  I  a  little  hasty.  Go  and  bathe  your  eyes  with 
a  glass  of  wine." 

[181] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Lambernier  scowled  and  his  eyes  darted  ugly,  hate- 
ful glances.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  he  were 
thinking  what  he  had  better  do,  and  was  weighing  his 
chances  of  success  in  case  of  a  hostile  resolve.  After 
a  few  moments'  reflection,  prudence  got  the  better  of 
his  anger.  He  closed  his  compass  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  but  he  refused  the  silver  offered  him. 

"You  are  generous,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter  smile; 
"five  francs  for  each  blow  of  the  whip!  I  know  a  good 
many  people  who  would  offer  you  their  cheek  twelve 
hours  of  the  day  at  that  price.  But  I  am  not  one  of 
that  kind;  I  ask  nothing  of  nobody." 

"If  Leonardo  da  Vinci  could  have  seen  this  fellow's 
face  just  now,"  thought  the  artist,  "he  would  not  have 
had  to  seek  so  long  for  his  model  for  the  face  of  Judas. 
Only  for  my  poniard,  my  fate  would  have  been  set- 
tled. This  man  was  ready  to  murder  me. 

"Listen,  Lambernier,"  said  he,  "I  was  wrong  to 
strike  you,  and  I  would  like  to  atone  for  it.  I  have 
been  told  that  you  were  sent  away  from  the  chateau 
against  your  will.  I  am  intimate  enough  with  Monsieur 
de  Bergenheim  to  be  useful  to  you;  do  you  wish  me 
to  speak  to  him  for  you?" 

The  carpenter  stood  motionless  hi  his  place,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  adversary  while  the  latter  was 
preparing  his  horse  to  mount,  eyes  which  seemed 
filled  with  hatred  to  their  very  depths.  His  face  sud- 
denly changed  its  expression  and  became  abjectly  po- 
lite when  he  heard  himself  addressed  anew.  He 
shook  his  head  two  or  three  times  before  replying. 

"Unless  you  are  the  very  devil,"  he  said,  "I  defy 
[182] 


GERFAUT 

you  to  make  this  gentleman  say  yes  when  he  has  once 
said  no.  He  turned  me  away  like  a  dog;  all  right. 
Let  them  laugh  that  win.  It  was  that  old  idiot  of  a 
Rousselet  and  that  old  simpleton  of  a  coachman  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil's  who  told  tales  about 
me.  I  could  tell  tales  also  if  I  liked." 

"But  what  motive  could  they  have  to  send  you 
away?"  continued  Marillac,  "you  are  a  clever  work- 
man. I  have  seen  your  work  at  the  chateau;  there 
are  some  rooms  yet  unfinished;  there  must  have  been 
some  very  grave  reason  for  their  not  employing  you 
just  at  the  moment  when  they  needed  you  most." 

"They  said  that  I  talked  with  Mademoiselle  Justine, 
and  Madame  caused  me  to  be  discharged.  She  is  mis- 
tress there,  is  she  not?  But  I  am  the  one  to  make  her 
repent  for  it." 

"And  how  can  you  make  her  repent  for  it?"  asked 
the  artist,  whose  curiosity,  left  ungratified  by  Made- 
moiselle Reine,  was  growing  more  and  more  excited, 
"what  can  you  have  in  common  with  Madame  la 
Baronne?" 

"Because  she  is  a  lady  and  I  am  a  workman,  you 
mean?  All  the  same,  if  I  could  only  whisper  two  or 
three  words  in  her  ear,  she  would  give  me  more  gold 
than  I  have  earned  since  I  worked  at  the  chateau,  I 
am  sure  of  it." 

"By  the  powers!  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would 
say  those  words  to  her  this  very  day." 

"So  as  to  be  thrown  out  by  that  band  of  idle  fellows 
in  their  red  coats.  None  of  that  for  me.  I  have  my 
own  scheme;  let  them  laugh  that  win!" 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

As  he  repeated  this  proverb,  the  workman  uttered 
his  usual  sardonic  laugh. 

"Lambernier,"  said  the  artist,  in  a  serious  tone,  "I 
have  heard  of  certain  very  strange  speeches  that  you 
have  made  within  the  last  few  days.  Do  you  know 
that  there  is  a  punishment  by  law  for  those  who  in- 
vent calumnies?" 

"Is  it  a  calumny,  when  one  can  prove  what  he 
says?"  replied  the  carpenter,  with  assurance. 

"What  is  it  that  you  undertake  to  prove?"  ex- 
claimed Marillac,  suddenly. 

"Eh!  you  know  very  well  that  if  Monsieur  le  Baron 

"  he  did  not  continue,  but  with  a  coarse  gesture 

he  finished  explaining  his  thoughts. 

"You  can  prove  this?" 

"Before  the  courts,  if  necessary." 

"Before  the  courts  would  not  amount  to  very  much 
for  you ;  but  if  you  will  cease  this  talk  and  never  open 
your  mouth  about  all  this,  whatever  it  may  be,  and 
will  give  to  me,  and  me  only,  this  proof  of  which  you 
speak,  I  will  give  you  ten  napoleons." 

For  a  moment  Lambernier  gazed  at  the  artist  with 
a  singularly  penetrating  glance. 

"So  you  have  two  sweethearts,  then — one  from  the 
city  and  one  from  the  country,  a  married  woman  and 
this  poor  girl,"  said  he,  in  a  jeering  tone;  "does  little 
Reine  know  that  she  is  playing  second  fiddle  ? ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean  to  insinuate?" 

"Oh!  you  are  more  clever  than  I." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  trying 
to  read  each  other's  thoughts. 
[184] 


GERFAUT 

"This  is  a  lover  of  Madame  de  Bergenheim," 
thought  Lambernier,  with  the  barefaced  impudence  of 
his  kind;  "if  I  were  to  tell  him  what  I  know,  my  ven- 
geance would  be  in  good  hands,  without  my  taking 
the  trouble  to  commit  myself." 

"Here  is  a  sneaking  fellow  who  pretends  to  be 
deucedly  strong  in  diplomacy,"  said  Marillac  to  him- 
self; "but  he  is  revengeful  and  I  must  make  him  ex- 
plain himself." 

"Ten  napoleons  are  not  to  be  found  every  day," 
continued  the  carpenter,  after  a  moment's  silence; 
"you  may  give  them  to  me,  if  you  like,  in  a  week." 

"You  will  be  able  to  prove  to  me,  then,  what  you 
have  said,"  replied  Marillac,  with  hesitation,  blushing 
in  spite  of  himself  at  the  part  he  was  playing  at  that 
moment,  upon  the  odious  side  of  which  he  had  not 
looked  until  now.  "Bah!"  said  he  to  himself,  in  order 
to  quiet  his  conscience,  "if  this  rascal  really  knows 
anything  it  is  much  better  that  I  should  buy  the  secret 
than  anybody  else.  I  never  should  take  advantage  of 
it,  and  I  might  be  able  to  render  the  lady  a  service. 
Is  it  not  a  gentleman's  sworn  duty  to  devote  himself 
to  the  defence  of  an  imprudent  beauty  who  is  in  dan- 
ger?" 

"I  will  bring  you  the  proof  you  want,"  said  the 
carpenter. 

"When?" 

"Meet  me  Monday  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
at  the  cross-roads  near  the  corner  of  the  Come  woods." 

"At  the  end  of  the  park?" 

"Yes,  a  little  above  the  rocks." 
[  185  ] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  will  be  there.  Until  then,  you  will  not  say  a  word 
to  anybody?" 

"That  is  a  bargain,  since  you  buy  the  goods  I  have 
for  sale " 

"Here  is  some  money  to  bind  the  trade,"  replied  the 
artist.  And  he  handed  him  the  silver  pieces  he  still 
held  in  his  hand;  Lambernier  took  them  this  time 
without  any  objections,  and  put  them  in  his  pocket. 

"Monday,  at  four  o'clock!" 

"Monday,  at  four  o'clock!"  repeated  Marillac,  as  he 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  in  great  haste  as  if 
eager  to  take  leave  of  his  companion.  He  turned 
when  he  reached  the  road,  and,  looking  behind  him, 
saw  the  workman  standing  motionless  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree. 

"There  is  a  scamp,"  thought  he,  "whose  ball  and 
chain  are  waiting  for  him  at  Toulon  or  Brest,  and  I 
have  just  concluded  a  devilish  treaty  with  him.  Bah! 
I  have  nothing  to  reproach  myself  with.  Of  two  evils 
choose  the  least;  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  Ger- 
faut  is  the  dupe  of  a  coquette  or  whether  his  love  is 
threatened  with  some  catastrophe;  at  all  events,  I  am 
his  friend,  and  I  ought  to  clear  up  this  mystery  and 
put  him  on  his  guard." 

"Ten  francs  to-day,  and  ten  napoleons  Monday," 
said  Lambernier  as,  with  an  eye  in  which  there  was  a 
mixture  of  scorn  and  hatred,  he  watched  the  traveller 
disappear.  "I  should  be  a  double  idiot  to  refuse.  But 
this  does  not  pay  for  the  blows  from  your  whip,  you 
puppy;  when  we  have  settled  this  affair  of  the  fine 
lady,  I  shall  attend  to  you." 
[186] 


CHAPTER  XII 

AN  INHARMONIOUS  MUSICALE 

E  visitors  referred  to  in  the  conver- 
sation between  the  two  friends  ar- 
rived at  the  castle  at  an  early  hour, 
according  to  the  custom  in  the  coun- 
try, where  they  dine  in  the  middle  of 
the  day.  Gerfaut  saw  from  his  cham- 
ber, where  he  had  remained  like 
Achilles  under  his  tent,  half  a  dozen 
carriages  drive  one  after  another  up  the  avenue,  bring- 
ing the  guests  announced  by  Marillac.  Little  by  little 
the  company  scattered  through  the  gardens  in  groups; 
four  or  five  young  girls  under  Aline's  escort  hurried  to 
a  swing,  to  which  several  good-natured  young  men 
attached  themselves,  and  among  them  Gerfaut  recog- 
nized his  Pylades.  During  this  time  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim  was  doing  the  honors  of  the  house  to  the 
matrons,  who  thought  this  amusement  too  youthful 
for  their  age  and  preferred  a  quiet  walk  through  the 
park.  Christian,  on  his  side,  was  explaining  methods 
of  improvements  to  gentlemen  of  agricultural  and  in- 
dustrial appearance,  who  seemed  to  listen  to  him  with 
great  interest.  Three  or  four  others  had  taken  pos- 
session of  the  billiard-table,  while  the  more  venerable 
among  the  guests  had  remained  in  the  parlor  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil. 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Have  you  a  pair  of  clean  trousers?"  asked  Maril- 
lac,  hastily  entering  his  friend's  room  as  the  first  bell 
rang  for  dinner.  An  enormous  green  stain  upon  one 
of  his  knees  was  all  the  explanation  necessary  on  this 
subject. 

"You  lose  no  time,"  said  Gerfaut,  as  he  opened  a 
drawer  in  his  closet.  "Which  of  these  rustic  beauties 
has  had  the  honor  of  seeing  you  on  your  knees  at  her 
feet?" 

"It  was  that  confounded  swing!  Silly  invention! 
To  sacrifice  one's  self  to  please  little  girls!  If  I  am 
ever  caught  at  it  again  I'll  let  you  know!  Your  self- 
ish method,  is  a  better  one.  By  the  way,  Madame  de 
Bergenheim  asked  me,  with  a  rather  sly  look,  whether 
you  were  ill  and  whether  you  would  not  come  down 
to  dinner?" 

"Irony!" 

"It  seemed  like  it.  The  lady  smiled  in  a  decidedly 
disagreeable  manner.  I  am  not  timid,  but  I  would 
rather  write  a  vaudeville  in  three  acts  than  to  be 
obliged  to  make  a  declaration  to  her  if  she  had  that 
impish  smile  on  her  lips.  She  has  a  way  of  protruding 
her  under  lip — ugh!  do  you  know  you  are  terribly 
slender  ?  Will  you  let  me  cut  the  band  of  your  trousers  ? 
I  never  could  dance  with  my  stomach  compressed  in 
this  manner." 

"What  about  this  secret  you  were  to  reveal  to  me?" 
Gerfaut  interrupted,  with  a  smile  which  seemed  to  de- 
note perfect  security. 

Marillac  looked  at  his  friend  with  a  grave  counte- 
nance, then  began  to  laugh  in  an  embarrassed  manner. 
[188] 


GERFAUT 

"We  will  leave  serious  matters  until  to-morrow,"  he 
replied.  "The  essential  thing  to-day  is  to  make  our- 
selves agreeable.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  asked  me 
a  little  while  ago  whether  we  would  be  kind  enough  to 
sing  a  few  duets  ?  I  accepted  for  us  both.  I  do  riot 
suppose  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  valley  have  often 
heard  the  duet  from  M ose  with  the  embellishments  a  la 
Tamburini — 

"Palpito  a  quello  as  petto, 
'Gemo  nel  suo  dolor.' 

Would  you  prefer  that  or  the  one  from  //  Barbiere  ? 
although  that  is  out  of  date,  now." 

"Whatever  pleases  you,  but  do  not  split  my  head 
about  it  in  advance.  I  wish  that  music  and  dancing 
were  at  the  bottom  of  the  Moselle." 

"With  all  my  heart,  but  not  the  dinner.  I  gave  a 
glance  into  the  dining-room;  it  promises  to  be  very 
fine.  Now,  then,  everybody  has  returned  to  the  house ; 
to  the  table!" 

The  time  has  long  since  passed  when  Paris  and  the 
province  formed  two  regions  almost  foreign  to  each 
other.  To-day,  thanks  to  the  rapidity  of  communica- 
tion, and  the  importations  of  all  kinds  which  reach  the 
centre  from  the  circumference  without  having  time  to 
spoil  on  the  way,  Paris  and  the  rest  of  France  are 
only  one  immense  body  excited  by  the  same  opinions, 
dressed  in  the  same  fashions,  laughing  at  the  same 
bon  mot,  revolutionized  by  the  same  opinions. 

Provincial  customs  have  almost  entirely  lost  their 
peculiarities;  a  drawing-room  filled  with  guests  is  the 
[189] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

same  everywhere.  There  are  sometimes  exceptions, 
however.  The  company  gathered  at  the  Bergenheim 
chateau  was  an  example  of  one  of  those  heterogene- 
ous assemblies  which  the  most  exclusive  mistress  of  a 
mansion  can  not  avoid  if  she  wishes  to  be  neighborly, 
and  in  which  a  duchess  may  have  on  her  right  at  the 
table  the  village  mayor,  and  the  most  elegant  of  la- 
dies a  corpulent  justice  of  the  peace  who  believes  he 
is  making  himself  agreeable  when  he  urges  his  fair 
neighbor  to  frequent  potations. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  discovered  symptoms 
of  haughty  jealousy  among  her  country  neighbors, 
always  ready  to  feel  themselves  insulted  and  very  lit- 
tle qualified  to  make  themselves  agreeable  in  society. 
So  she  resolved  to  extend  a  general  invitation  to  all 
those  whom  she  felt  obliged  to  receive,  in  order  to 
relieve  herself  at  once  of  a  nuisance  for  which  no 
pleasure  could  prove  an  equivalent.  This  day  was 
one  of  her  duty  days. 

Among  these  ladies,  much  more  gorgeously  than 
elegantly  attired,  these  healthy  young  girls  with  large 
arms,  and  feet  shaped  like  flat-irons,  ponderous  gen- 
tlemen strangled  by  their  white  cravats  and  puffed  up 
in  their  frock-coats,  Gerfaut,  whose  nervous  system 
had  been  singularly  irritated  by  his  disappointment  of 
the  night  before,  felt  ready  to  burst  with  rage.  He 
was  seated  at  the  table  between  two  ladies,  who  seemed 
to  have  exhausted,  in  their  toilettes,  every  color  in  the 
solar  spectrum,  and  whose  coquettish  instincts  were 
aroused  by  the  proximity  of  a  celebrated  writer.  But 
their  simperings  were  all  lost;  the  one  for  whom  they 
[190] 


GERFAUT 

were  intended  bore  himself  in  a  sulky  way,  which  fort- 
unately passed  for  romantic  melancholy;  this  rendered 
him  still  more  interesting  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbor 
on  the  left,  a  plump  blonde  about  twenty-five  years 
old,  fresh  and  dimpled,  who  doted  upon  Lord  Byron, 
a  common  pretension  among  pretty,  buxom  women 
who  adore  false  sentimentality. 

With  the  exception  of  a  bow  when  he  entered  the 
drawing-room,  Octave  had  not  shown  Madame  de 
Bergenheim  any  attention.  The  cold,  disdainful, 
bored  manner  in  which  he  patiently  endured  the 
pleasures  of  the  day  exceeded  even  the  privilege  for 
boorish  bearing  willingly  granted  to  gentlemen  of 
unquestionable  talent.  Clemence,  on  the  contrary, 
seemed  to  increase  in  amiability  and  liveliness.  There 
was  not  one  of  her  tiresome  guests  to  whom  she  did  not 
address  some  pleasant  remark,  not  one  of  those  vulgar, 
pretentious  women  to  whom  she  was  not  gracious  and 
attentive;  one  would  have  said  that  she  had  a  partic- 
ular desire  to  be  more  attractive  than  usual,  and  that 
her  lover's  sombre  air  added  materially  to  her  good 
humor. 

After  dinner  they  retired  to  the  drawing-room  where 
coffee  was  served.  A  sudden  shower,  whose  drops 
pattered  loudly  against  the  windows,  rendered  im- 
possible all  plans  for  amusement  out  of  doors.  Ger- 
faut  soon  noticed  a  rather  animated  conversation  tak- 
ing place  between  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  who  was 
somewhat  embarrassed  as  to  how  to  amuse  her  guests 
for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon,  and  Marillac,  who, 
with  his  accustomed  enthusiasm,  had  constituted  him- 
[191] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

self  master  of  ceremonies.  A  moment  later,  the  draw- 
ing-room door  opened,  and  servants  appeared  bending 
under  the  burden  of  an  enormous  grand  piano  which 
was  placed  between  the  windows.  At  this  sight,  a 
tremor  of  delight  ran  through  the  group  of  young  girls, 
while  Octave,  who  was  standing  in  one  corner  near  the 
mantel,  finished  his  Mocha  with  a  still  more  melan- 
choly air. 

"Now,  then!"  said  Marillac,  who  had  been  ex- 
tremely busy  during  these  preparations,  and  had  spread 
a  dozen  musical  scores  upon  the  top  of  the  piano,  "it 
is  agreed  that  we  shall  sing  the  duet  from  Mose.  There 
are  two  or  three  little  boarding-school  misses  here 
whose  mothers  are  dying  for  them  to  show  off.  You 
understand  that  we  must  sacrifice  ourselves  to  encour- 
age them.  Besides,  a  duet  for  male  voices  is  the  thing 
to  open  a  concert  with." 

"A  concert!  has  Madame  de  Bergenheim  arranged 
to  pasture  us  in  this  sheepfold  in  order  to  make  use  of 
us  this  evening?"  replied  Gerfaut,  whose  ill-humor  in- 
creased every  moment. 

"Five  or  six  pieces  only,  afterward  they  will  have  a 
dance.  I  have  an  engagement  with  your  diva;  if 
you  wish  for  a  quadrille  and  have  not  yet  secured  your 
number,  I  should  advise  you  to  ask  her  for  it  now,  for 
there  are  five  or  six  dandies  who  seem  to  be  terribly 
attentive  to  her.  After  our  duet  I  shall  sing  the  trio 
from  La  Dame  Blanche,  with  those  young  ladies  who 
have  eyes  as  round  as  a  fish's,  and  apricot-colored 
gowns  on— those  two  over  there  in  the  corner,  near 
that  pretty  blonde  who  sat  beside  you  at  table  and 
[192] 


GERFAUT 

ogled  you  all  the  time.  She  had  already  bored  me  to 
death!  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  hit 
my  low  '  G '  right  or  not.  I  have  a  cataclysm  of  char- 
lotte-russe  in  my  stomach.  Just  listen : 

'A  cette  complaisance  I — "' 

Marillac  leaned  toward  his  friend  and  roared  in  his 
ear  the  note  supposed  to  be  the  "G"  in  question. 

"Like  an  ophicleide,"  said  Gerfaut,  who  could  not 
help  laughing  at  the  importance  the  artist  attached  to 
his  display  of  talent. 

"In  that  case  I  shall  risk  my  great  run  at  the  end  of 
the  first  solo.  Two  octaves  from  '  E '  to  '  E ' !  Zuchelli 
was  good  enough  to  give  me  a  few  points  as  to  the  time, 
and  I  do  it  rather  nicely." 

"Madame  would  like  to  speak  to  Monsieur,"  said 
a  servant,  who  interrupted  him  in  the  midst  of  his 
sentence. 

" Dolce,  soave  amor,"  warbled  the  artist,  softly,  as 
he  responded  to  the  call  from  the  lady  of  the  house, 
trying  to  fix  in  his  mind  that  run,  which  he  regarded 
as  one  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers  in  his  musical 
crown. 

Everybody  was  seated,  Madame  de  Bergenheim  sat 
at  the  piano  and  Marillac  stood  behind  her.  The 
artist  selected  one  of  the  scores,  spread  it  out  on  the 
rack,  turned  down  the  corners  so  that  during  the  ex- 
ecution he  might  not  be  stopped  by  some  refractory 
leaf,  coughed  in  his  deep  bass  voice,  placed  himself  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  show  the  side  of  his  head  which 
he  thought  would  produce  the  best  effect  upon  the 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

audience,  then  gave  a  knowing  nod  to  Gerfaut,  who 
still  stood  gloomy  and  isolated  in  a  far  corner. 

"We  trespass  upon  your  kindness  too  much,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Madame  de  Bergenheim  to  him,  when  he 
had  responded  to  this  mute  invitation;  and  as  she 
struck  a  few  chords,  she  raised  her  dark,  brown  eyes 
to  his.  It  was  the  first  glance  she  had  given  him  that 
day;  from  coquetry,  perhaps,  or  because  sorrow  for 
her  lover  had  softened  her  heart,  or  because  she  felt 
remorse  for  the  extreme  harshness  of  her  note  the 
night  before,  we  must  admit  that  this  glance  had  noth- 
ing very  discouraging  in  it.  Octave  bowed,  and  spoke 
a  few  words  as  coldly  polite  as  he  would  have  spoken 
to  a  woman  sixty  years  of  age. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  lowered  her  eyes  and  en- 
deavored to  smile  disdainfully,  as  she  struck  the  first 
bars  of  the  duet. 

The  concert  began.  Gerfaut  had  a  sweet,  clear, 
tenor  voice  which  he  used  skilfully,  gliding  over  dan- 
gerous passages,  skipping  too  difficult  ones  which  he 
thought  beyond  his  execution,  singing,  in  fact,  with 
the  prudence  of  an  amateur  who  can  not  spend  his 
time  studying  runs  and  chromatic  passages  four  hours 
daily.  He  sang  his  solo  with  a  simplicity  bordering 
upon  negligence,  and  even  substituted  for  the  rather 
complicated  passage  at  the  end  a  more  than  modest 
ending. 

Cle"mence,  for  whom  he  had  often  sung,  putting  his 

whole  soul  into  the  performance,  was  vexed  with  this 

affectation  of  indifference.    It  seemed  to  her  as  if  he 

ought,  for  her  sake,  to  make  more  of  an  effort  in  her 

[i94] 


GERFAUT 

drawing-room,  whatever  might  be  their  private  quarrel; 
she  felt  it  was  a  consideration  due  to  her  and  to  which 
his  numerous  homages  had  accustomed  her.  She  en- 
tered this  new  grievance  in  a  double-entry  book,  which 
a  woman  always  devotes  to  the  slightest  actions  of  the 
man  who  pays  court  to  her. 

Marillac,  on  the  contrary,  was  grateful  to  his  friend 
for  this  indifference  of  execution,  for  he  saw  in  it  an 
occasion  to  shine  at  his  expense.  He  began  his  solo 
E  il  del  per  noi  sereno,  with  an  unusual  tension  of  the 
larynx,  roaring  out  his  low  notes.  Except  for  the  ex- 
tension being  a  little  irregular  and  unconnected,  he  did 
not  acquit  himself  very  badly  in  the  first  part.  When 
he  reached  his  final  run,  he  took  a  long  breath,  as  if  it 
devolved  upon  him  to  set  in  motion  all  the  windmills 
in  Montmartre,  and  started  with  a  majestic  fury;  the 
first  forty  notes,  while  they  did  not  resemble  Mademoi- 
selle Grisi's  pearly  tones,  ascended  and  descended  with- 
out any  notable  accident;  but  at  the  last  stages  of  the 
descent,  the  singer's  breath  and  voice  failed  him  at  the 
same  moment,  the  "A"  came  out  weak,  the  "G"  was 
stifled,  the  "F"  resembled  the  buzzing  of  a  bee,  and 
the  "E"  was  absent! 

Zuchelli's  run  was  like  one  of  those  Gothic  stair- 
cases which  show  an  almost  complete  state  of  preser- 
vation upon  the  upper  floor,  but  whose  base,  worn  by 
time,  leaves  a  solution  of  continuity  between  the  ground 
and  the  last  step. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  waited  the  conclusion  of 
this  dangerous  run,  not  thinking  to  strike  the  final 
chord;  the  only  sound  heard  was  the  rustling  of  the 
[i95J 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

dilettante's  beard,  as  his  chin  sought  his  voice  in  vain 
in  the  depths  of  his  satin  cravat,  accompanied  by  ap- 
plause from  a  benevolent  old  lady  who  had  judged  of 
the  merit  of  the  execution  by  the  desperate  contor- 
tions of  the  singer. 

"D n  that  charlotte-russe ! "  growled  the  artist, 

whose  face  was  as  red  as  a  lobster. 

The  rest  of  the  duet  was  sung  without  any  new  in- 
cident, and  gave  general  satisfaction. 

"Madame,  your  piano  is  half  a  tone  too  low,"  said 
the  basso,  with  a  reproachful  accent. 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Clemence,  who  could  not  re- 
strain a  smile;  "I  have  so  little  voice  that  I  am  obliged 
to  have  my  piano  tuned  to  suit  it.  You  can  well  afford 
to  pardon  me  for  my  selfishness,  for  you  sang  like  an 
angel." 

Marillac  bowed,  partly  consoled  by  this  compliment, 
but  thinking  to  himself  that  a  hostess's  first  duty  was 
to  have  her  piano  in  tune,  and  not  to  expose  a  bass 
singer  to  the  danger  of  imperilling  his  low  "E"  before 
an  audience  of  forty. 

"Madame,  can  I  be  of  any  more  service  to  you?" 
asked  Gerfaut,  as  he  leaned  toward  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim,  with  one  of  his  coldest  smiles. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  impose  further  upon  your  kind- 
ness, Monsieur,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  which  showed 
her  secret  displeasure. 

The  poet  bowed  and  walked  away. 

Then  Clemence,  upon  general  request,  sang  a  ro- 
mance with  more  taste  than  brilliancy,  and  more 
method  than  expression.  It  seemed  as  if  Octave's  icy 
[196] 


GERFAUT 

manner  had  reacted  upon  her,  in  spite  of  the  efforts 
she  had  made  at  first  to  maintain  a  cheerful  air.  A 
singular  oppression  overcame  her;  once  or  twice  she 
feared  her  voice  would  fail  her  entirely.  When  she 
finished,  the  compliments  and  applause  with  which  she 
was  overwhlemed  seemed  so  insupportable  to  her  that 
it  was  with  difficulty  she  could  restrain  herself  from 
leaving  the  room.  While  exasperated  by  her  weak- 
ness, she  could  not  help  casting  a  glance  in  Octave's 
direction.  She  could  not  catch  his  eye,  however,  as 
he  was  busy  talking  with  Aline.  She  felt  so  lonely 
and  deserted  at  this  moment,  and  longed  so  for  this 
glance  which  she  could  not  obtain,  that  tears  of  vexa- 
tion filled  her  eyes. 

"I  was  wrong  to  write  him  as  I  did,"  thought  she; 
"but  if  he  really  loved  me,  he  would  not  so  quickly 
resign  himself  to  obeying  me!" 

A  woman  in  a  drawing-room  resembles  a  soldier  on 
a  breastwork;  self-abnegation  is  the  first  of  her  du- 
ties; however  much  she  may  suffer,  she  must  present 
as  calm  and  serene  a  countenance  as  a  warrior  in  the 
hour  of  danger,  and  fall,  if  necessary,  upon  the  spot, 
with  death  in  her  heart  and  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 
In  order  to  obey  this  unwritten  law,  Madame  de  Ber- 
gcnheim,  after  a  slight  interruption,  seated  herself  at 
the  piano  to  accompany  three  or  four  young  girls  who 
were  each  to  sing  in  turn  the  songs  that  they  had  been 
drilled  on  for  six  months. 

Marillac,  who  had  gone  to  strengthen  his  stomach 
with  a  glass  of  rum,  atoned  for  his  little  mishap,  in 
the  trio  from  La  Dame  Blanche,  and  everything  went 
[i97] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

smoothly.  Finally,  to  close  this  concert  (may  heaven 
preserve  us  from  all  exhibitions  of  this  kind!),  Aline 
was  led  to  the  piano  by  her  brother,  who,  like  all  peo- 
ple who  are  not  musical,  could  not  understand  why 
one  should  study  music  for  years  if  not  from  love  for 
the  art.  Christian  was  fond  of  his  little  sister  and 
very  proud  of  her  talents.  The  poor  child,  whose 
courage  had  all  disappeared,  sang  in  a  fresh,  trembling 
little  voice,  a  romance  revised  and  corrected  at  her 
boarding-school.  The  word  love  had  been  replaced 
by  that  of  friendship,  and  to  repair  this  slight  fault  of 
prosody,  the  extra  syllable  disappeared  in  a  hiatus 
which  would  have  made  Boileau's  blond  wig  stand  on 
end.  But  the  Sacred  Heart  has  a  system  of  versifica- 
tion of  its  own  which,  rather  than  allow  the  dangerous 
expression  to  be  used,  let  ultra-modesty  destroy  poetry! 
This  sample  of  sacred  music  was  the  final  number 
of  the  concert;  after  that,  they  began  dancing,  and 
Gerfaut  invited  Aline.  Whether  because  he  wished  to 
struggle  against  his  ill-humor,  or  from  kindness  of  heart 
because  he  understood  her  emotion,  he  began  to  talk 
with  the  young  girl,  who  was  still  blushing  at  her 
success.  Among  his  talents,  Octave  possessed  in  a 
peculiar  degree  that  of  adapting  his  conversation  to 
the  age,  position,  and  character  of  his  companions. 
Aline  listened  with  unconcealed  pleasure  to  her  part- 
ner's words;  the  elasticity  of  her  step  and  a  sort  of 
general  trembling  made  her  seem  like  a  flower  sway- 
ing to  the  breeze,  and  revealed  the  pleasure  which  his 
conversation  gave  her.  Every  time  her  eyes  met  Oc- 
tave's penetrating  glance  they  fell,  out  of  instinctive 
[198] 


GERFAUT 

modesty.  Each  word,  however  indifferent  it  might  be, 
rang  in  her  ears  sweet  and  melodious;  each  contact 
with  his  hand  seemed  to  her  like  a  tender  pressure. 

Gerfaut  experienced  a  feeling  of  melancholy  as  he 
noticed  how  this  fresh,  innocent  rose  brightened  up  at 
each  word  he  uttered,  and  he  thought: 

"She  would  love  me  as  I  want  to  be  loved,  with  all 
her  heart,  mind,  and  soul.  She  would  kneel  before 
my  love  as  before  an  altar,  while  this  coquette " 

He  glanced  in  the  direction  where  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim  was  dancing  with  Marillac,  and  met  her  gaze 
fixed  full  upon  him.  The  glance  which  he  received 
was  rapid,  displeased,  and  imperious.  It  signified 
clearly:  "I  forbid  you  to  speak  thus  to  your  partner." 

Octave,  at  that  moment,  was  not  disposed  to  obedi- 
ence. After  glancing  over  the  quadrille,  as  if  it  were 
by  mere  chance  that  his  eyes  had  met  Clemence's,  he 
turned  toward  Aline  and  redoubled  his  amiability 

A  moment  later,  he  received,  not  directly,  but 
through  the  medium  of  the  mirror — that  so  often  in- 
discreet confidant — a  second  glance  more  sombre  and 
threatening  than  before. 

"Very  good,"  said  he,  to  himself,  as  he  led  the  young 
girl  to  her  seat;  "we  are  jealous.  That  alters  the  sit- 
uation. I  know  now  where  the  ramparts  are  the  weak- 
est and  where  to  begin  my  attack." 

No  other  incident  marked  the  day.  The  guests  left 
at  nightfall,  and  the  society  was  reduced  to  the  usual 
members  of  the  household.  Octave  entered  his  room 
after  supper,  humming  an  Italian  air,  evidently  in  such 
good  spirits  that  his  friend  was  quite  surprised. 
[1993 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  give  it  up,  I  can  not  understand  your  conduct," 
said  the  latter;  "you  have  been  as  solemn  as  an  owl 
all  day,  and  now  here  you  are  as  gay  as  a  lark;  have 
you  had  an  understanding?" 

"I  am  more  vexed  than  ever." 

"And  you  enjoy  being  so?" 

"Very  much." 

"Ah!  you  are  playing  'who  loses  wins!'" 

"Not  exactly;  but  as  my  good  sentiments  lead  to 
nothing,  I  hope  to  conduct  myself  in  such  a  disagree- 
able way  as  to  force  this  capricious  creature  to  adore 
me." 

"The  devil!  that  is  clever.  Besides,  it  is  a  system 
as  good  as  any  other.  Women  are  such  extraordinary 
creatures!" 

"Woman,"  said  Octave,  "resembles  a  pendulum, 
whose  movement  is  a  continual  reaction;  when  it 
moves  to  the  right,  it  has  to  go  to  the  left  in  order  to 
return  to  the  right  again,  and  so  on.  Suppose  virtue 
is  on  one  side  and  love  on  the  other,  and  the  feminine 
balance  between  them,  the  odds  are  that,  having 
moved  to  the  right  in  a  violent  manner,  it  will  return 
none  the  less  energetically  to  the  left ;  for  the  longer  a 
vibration  has  been,  the  greater  play  the  contrary  vibra- 
tion has.  In  order  to  hasten  the  action  of  this  pen- 
dulum I  am  about  to  attach  to  it — to  act  as  extra  bal- 
ance-weight— a  little  anguish  which  I  ought  to  have 
employed  sooner." 

"Why  make  her  suffer,  since  you  believe  that  she 
loves  you?" 

"Why?  Because  she  drives  me  to  it.  Do  you  fancy 
[200] 


GERFAUT 

that  I  torture  her  willingly;  that  I  take  pleasure  in 
seeing  her  cheeks  grow  pale  from  insomnia  and  her 
eyes  show  traces  of  tears?  I  love  her,  I  tell  you;  I 
suffer  and  weep  with  her.  But  I  love  her,  and  I  must 
make  sure  of  her  love.  If  she  will  leave  but  a  road 
full  of  brambles  and  sharp  stones  for  me  to  reach  her, 
must  I  give  up  the  struggle  just  because  I  run  the  risk 
by  taking  her  with  me,  of  wounding  her  charming 
feet?  I  will  cure  them  with  my  kisses!" 

"Listen  to  me!  I  am  not  in  love;  I  am  an  artist. 
If  I  have  some  peculiar  ideas,  it  is  not  my  fault.  And 
you,  in  your  character  of  docile  lover,  have  you  decided 
to  yield?" 

"  Morally." 

"Very  well!  after  all,  you  are  right.  The  science  of 
love  resembles  those  old  signs  upon  which  one  reads: 
'Here,  hair  is  dressed  according  to  one's  fancy.'  If 
this  angel  wishes  her  hair  pulled,  do  it  for  her." 


[201] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MONSIEUR  DE  BERGENHEIM 

fOME  men  in  society  marry  too  soon, 
a  great  number  too  late,  a  small 
and  fortunate  proportion  at  an  op- 
portune time.  Young  men  in  the 
country,  of  good  family,  are  usually 
established  in  marriage  by  their 
parents  as  early  as  possible.  When 
the  family  council  finds  an  heiress 
who  answers  all  the  conditions  of  the  programme 
laid  out,  they  begin  by  giving  the  victim  his  cue. 
Provided  the  young  lady  has  not  a  positively  crooked 
nose,  arms  too  red,  and  too  uncouth  a  waist — some- 
times even  notwithstanding  these  little  misfortunes — 
the  transaction  is  concluded  without  any  difficulty. 

Clemence  and  Christian  should  be  placed  in  the 
first  rank  of  privileged  couples  of  this  kind.  The 
most  fastidious  old  uncle  or  precise  old  dowager 
could  not  discover  the  slightest  pretense  for  criticism. 
Age,  social  position,  wealth,  physical  endowments,  all 
seemed  united  by  a  chance  as  rare  as  fortunate.  So 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  who  had  very  high  pre- 
tensions for  her  niece,  made  no  objection  upon  receiv- 
ing the  first  overtures.  She  had  not,  at  this  time,  the 
antipathy  for  her  future  nephew's  family  which  devel- 
[202] 


GERFAUT 

oped  later.  The  Bergenheims  were  in  her  eyes  very 
well-born  gentleman. 

A  meeting  took  place  at  the  Russian  Embassy.  Ber- 
genheim  came  in  uniform;  it  was  etiquette  to  do  so, 
as  the  minister  of  war  was  present;  but  at  the  same 
time,  of  course,  there  was  a  little  vanity  on  his  part, 
for  his  uniform  showed  off  his  tall,  athletic  figure  to 
the  best  advantage.  Christian  was  certainly  a  very 
handsome  soldier;  his  moustache  and  eyebrows  were 
of  a  lighter  tint  than  his  complexion,  and  gave  him 
that  martial  air  which  pleases  women.  Clemence 
could  find  no  reason  for  a  refusal.  The  way  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up  by  her  aunt  had  not  ren- 
dered her  so  happy  but  that  she  often  desired  to  change 
her  situation.  Like  the  greater  number  of  young 
girls,  she  consented  to  become  a  wife  so  as  not  to  re- 
main a  maiden;  she  said  yes,  so  as  not  to  say  no. 

As  to  Christian,  he  was  in  love  with  his  wife  as 
nine  out  of  ten  cavalry  officers  know  how  to  love,  and 
he  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  sentiment  that 
he  received  in  return  for  this  sudden  affection.  A  few 
successes  with  young  belles,  for  whom  an  epaulette 
has  an  irresistible  attraction,  had  inspired  Baron  de 
Bergenheim  with  a  confidence  in  himself  the  simplic- 
ity of  which  excused  the  conceit.  He  persuaded  him- 
self that  he  pleased  Clemence  because  she  suited  him 
exactly. 

There  are  singers  who  pretend  to  read  music  at 
sight;  give  them  a  score  by  Gliick — "I  beg  your  par- 
don," they  will  say,  "my  part  is  written  here  in  the 
key  of  'C'  and  I  sing  only  in  the  key  of  'G'!"  How 
[203] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

many  men  do  not  know  even  the  key  of '  G '  in  matters 
of  love!  Unfortunately  for  him,  Bergenheim  was  one 
of  that  number.  After  three  years  of  married  life, 
he  had  not  divined  the  first  note  in  Clemence's  char- 
acter. He  decided  in  his  own  mind,  at  the  end  of  a 
few  months,  that  she  was  cold,  if  not  heartless.  This 
discovery,  which  ought  to  have  wounded  his  vanity, 
inspired  him,  on  the  contrary,  with  a  deeper  respect 
for  her;  insensibly  this  reserve  reacted  upon  himself, 
for  love  is  a  fire  whose  heat  dies  out  for  want  of  fuel, 
and  its  cooling  off  is  more  sudden  when  the  flame  is 
more  on  the  surface  than  in  the  depths. 

The  revolution  of  1830  stopped  Christian's  career, 
and  gave  further  pretexts  for  temporary  absences 
which  only  added  to  the  coolness  which  already  ex- 
isted between  husband  and  wife.  After  handing  in 
his  resignation,  the  Baron  fixed  his  residence  at  his 
chateau  in  the  Vosges  mountains,  for  which  he  shared 
the  hereditary  predilection  of  his  family.  His  tastes 
were  in  perfect  harmony  with  this  dwelling,  for  he 
had  quickly  become  the  perfect  type  of  a  country  gen- 
tleman, scorning  the  court  and  rarely  leaving  his  an- 
cestral acres.  He  was  too  kind-hearted  to  exact  that 
his  wife  should  share  his  country  tastes  and  retired 
life.  The  unlimited  confidence  which  he  had  in  her, 
a  loyalty  which  never  allowed  him  to  suppose  evil  or 
suspect  her,  a  nature  very  little  inclined  to  jealousy, 
made  him  allow  C16mence  the  greatest  liberty.  The 
young  woman  lived  at  will  in  Paris  with  her  aunt,  or 
at  Bergenheim  with  her  husband,  without  a  suspicious 
thought  ever  entering  his  head.  Really,  what  had  he 
[204] 


GERFAUT 

to  fear?  What  wrong  could  she  reproach  him  with? 
Was  he  not  full  of  kindness  and  attention  toward  her? 
Did  he  not  leave  her  mistress  of  her  own  fortune,  free 
to  do  as  she  liked,  to  gratify  every  caprice?  He  thus 
lived  upon  his  faith  in  the  marriage  contract,  with  un- 
bounded confidence  and  old-fashioned  loyalty. 

According  to  general  opinion,  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim  was  a  very  fortunate  woman,  to  whom  virtue 
must  be  so  easy  that  it  could  hardly  be  called  a  merit. 
Happiness,  according  to  society,  consists  in  a  box  at 
the  Opera,  a  fine  carriage,  and  a  husband  who  pays 
the  bills  without  frowning.  Add  to  the  above  privi- 
leges, a  hundred  thousand  francs'  worth  of  diamonds, 
and  a  woman  has  really  no  right  to  dream  or  to  suffer. 
There  are,  however,  poor,  loving  creatures  who  stifle 
under  this  happiness  as  if  under  one  of  those  leaden 
covers  that  Dante  speaks  of;  they  breathe,  in  imag- 
ination, the  pure,  vital  air  that  a  fatal  instinct  has  re- 
vealed to  them;  they  struggle  between  duty  and  de- 
sire ;  they  gaze,  like  captive  doves  and  with  a  sorrowful 
eye,  upon  the  forbidden  region  where  it  would  be  so 
blissful  to  soar;  for,  in  fastening  a  chain  to  their  feet, 
the  law  did  not  bandage  their  eyes,  and  nature  gave 
them  wings ;  if  the  wings  tear  the  chain  asunder,  shame 
and  misfortune  await  them!  Society  will  never  for- 
give the  heart  that  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  joys  it  is 
unacquainted  with;  even  a  brief  hour  in  that  paradise 
has  to  be  expiated  by  implacable  social  damnation  and 
its  everlasting  flames- 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GERFAUT'S  ALLEGORY 

[ERE  almost  always  comes  a  mo- 
ment when  a  woman,  in  her  combat 
against  love,  is  obliged  to  call  false- 
hood to  the  help  of  duty.  Madame 
de  Bergenheim  had  entered  this  ter- 
rible period,  in  which  virtue,  doubt- 
ing its  own  strength,  does  not  blush 
to  resort  to  other  resources.  At  the 
moment  when  Octave,  a  man  of  experience,  was  seek- 
ing assistance  in  exciting  her  jealousy,  she  was  medi- 
tating a  plan  of  defence  founded  upon  deceit.  In 
order  to  take  away  all  hope  from  her  lover,  she  pre- 
tended a  sudden  affection  for  her  husband,  and  in 
spite  of  her  secret  remorse  she  persisted  in  this  rdle 
for  two  days;  but  during  the  night  her  tears  expiated 
her  treachery.  Christian  greeted  his  wife's  virtuous 
coquetry  with  the  gratitude  and  eagerness  of  a  hus- 
band who  has  been  deprived  of  love  more  than  he  likes. 
Gerfaut  was  very  indignant  at  the  sight  of  this  per- 
fidious manoeuvre,  the  intention  of  which  he  immedi- 
ately divined;  and  his  rage  wanted  only  provocation 
to  break  out  in  full  force. 

One  evening  they  were  all  gathered  in  the  drawing- 
room  with  the  exception  of  Aline,  whom  a  reprimand 
[206] 


GERFAUT 

from  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  had  exiled  to  her 
room.  The  old  lady,  stretched  out  in  her  chair,  had 
decided  to  be  unfaithful  to  her  whist  in  favor  of  con- 
versation. Marillac,  leaning  his  elbows  upon  a  round 
table,  was  negligently  sketching  some  political  cari- 
catures, at  that  time  very  much  the  fashion,  and  par- 
ticularly agreeable  to  the  Legitimist  party.  Christian, 
who  was  seated  near  his  wife,  whose  hand  he  was  press- 
ing with  caressing  familiarity,  passed  from  one  subject 
to  another,  and  showed  in  his  conversation  the  over- 
whelming conceit  of  a  happy  man  who  regards  his 
happiness  as  a  proof  of  superiority. 

Gerfaut,  standing,  gazed  gloomily  at  Clemence,  who 
leaned  toward  her  husband  and  seemed  to  listen  eagerly 
to  his  slightest  word.  Bergenheim  was  a  faithful  ad- 
mirer of  the  classics,  as  are  all  country  gentlemen,  who 
introduce  a  sentiment  of  propriety  into  their  literary 
opinions  and  prefer  the  ancient  writers  to  the  modern, 
for  the  reason  that  their  libraries  are  much  richer  in 
old  works  than  in  modern  books.  The  Baron  unmer- 
cifully sacrificed  Victor  Hugo  and  Alexandre  Dumas, 
whom  he  had  never  read,  upon  the  altar  of  Racine  and 
Corneille,  of  which  he  possessed  two  or  three  editions, 
and  yet  it  would  have  embarrassed  him  to  recite  half 
a  dozen  verses  from  them.  Marillac  boldly  defended 
the  cause  of  contemporary  literature,  which  he  con- 
sidered as  a  personal  matter,  and  poured  out  a  profu- 
sion of  sarcastic  remarks  in  which  there  was  more  wit 
than  good  taste. 

"The  gods  fell  from  Olympus,  why  should  they  not 
also  fall  from  Parnassus?"  said  the  artist,  finally,  with 
[207] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

a  triumphant  air.  "Say  what  you  will,  Bergenheim, 
your  feeble  opposition  will  not  prevail  against  the  in- 
stincts of  the  age.  The  future  is  ours,  let  me  tell  you, 
and  we  are  the  high  priests  of  the  new  religion;  is  it 
not  so,  Gerfaut?" 

At  these  words,  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  shook 
her  head,  gravely. 

"A  new  religion!"  said  she;  "if  this  pretension 
should  be  verified  you  would  only  be  guilty  of  heresy, 
and,  without  allowing  myself  to  be  taken  in,  I  can 
understand  how  elevated  minds  and  enthusiastic  hearts 
might  be  attracted  by  the  promises  of  a  deceptive  Uto- 
pia; but  you,  gentlemen,  whom  I  believe  to  be  sincere, 
do  you  not  see  to  what  an  extent  you  delude  your- 
selves? What  you  call  religion  is  the  most  absolute 
negation  of  religious  principles;  it  is  the  most  distress- 
ing impiety  ornamented  with  a  certain  sentimental 
hypocrisy  which  has  not  even  the  courage  frankly  to 
proclaim  its  principles." 

"I  swear  to  you,  Mademoiselle,  that  I  am  religious 
three  days  out  of  four,"  replied  Marillac;  "that  is 
something;  there  are  some  Christians  who  are  pious 
only  on  Sunday." 

"Materialism  is  the  source  from  which  modern  lit- 
erature takes  its  inspiration,"  continued  the  old  lady; 
"and  this  poisonous  stream  not  only  dries  up  the 
thoughts  which  would  expand  toward  heaven,  but  also 
withers  all  that  is  noble  in  human  sentiment.  To-day, 
people  are  not  content  to  deny  God,  because  they  are 
not  pure  enough  to  comprehend  Him;  they  disown 
even  the  weakness  of  the  heart,  provided  they  have 
[208] 


GERFAUT 

an  exalted  and  dignified  character.  They  believe  no 
longer  in  love.  All  the  women  that  your  fashionable 
writers  tell  us  about  are  vulgar  and  sometimes  un- 
chaste creatures,  to  whom  formerly  a  gentleman  would 
have  blushed  to  give  one  glance  or  to  offer  a  supper. 
I  say  this  for  your  benefit,  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,  for 
in  this  respect  you  are  far  from  being  irreproachable; 
and  I  could  bring  forth  your  books  to  support  my 
theory.  If  I  accuse  you  of  atheism,  in  love,  what  have 
you  to  say  in  reply?" 

Carried  away  by  one  of  those  impulsive  emotions 
which  men  of  imagination  can  not  resist,  Octave  arose 
and  said: 

"I  should  not  deny  such  an  accusation.  Yes,  it  is 
a  sad  thing,  but  true,  and  only  weak  minds  recoil  from 
the  truth:  reality  exists  only  in  material  objects;  all 
the  rest  is  merely  deception  and  fancy.  All  poetry  is 
a  dream,  all  spiritualism  a  fraud!  Why  not  apply  to 
love  the  accommodating  philosophy  which  takes  the 
world  as  it  is,  and  does  not  throw  a  savory  fruit  into 
the  press  under  the  pretext  of  extracting  I  know  not 
what  imaginary  essence?  Two  beautiful  eyes,  a  satin 
skin,  white  teeth,  and  a  shapely  foot  and  hand  are  of 
such  positive  and  inestimable  value!  Is  it  not  unrea- 
sonable, then,  to  place  elsev/here  than  in  them  all  the 
wealth  of  love  ?  Intellect  sustains  its  owner,  they  say ; 
no,  intelligence  kills.  It  is  thought  that  corrupts  sen- 
sation and  causes  suffering  where,  but  for  that,  joy 
would  reign  supreme. 

"Thought!  accursed  gift!  Do  we  give  or  ask  a 
thought  of  the  rose  whose  perfume  we  breathe  ?  Why 
14  [  209  ] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

not  love  as  we  breathe?  Would  not  woman,  consid- 
ered simply  as  a  perfectly  organized  vegetation,  be  the 
queen  of  creation  ?  Why  not  enjoy  her  perfume  as  we 
bend  before  her,  leaving  her  clinging  to  the  ground 
where  she  was  born  and  lives?  Why  tear  her  from 
the  earth,  this  flower  so  fresh,  and  have  her  wither  in 
our  hands  as  we  raise  her  up  like  an  offering?  Why 
make  of  so  weak  and  fragile  a  creature  a  being  above 
all  others,  for  whom  our  enthusiasm  can  find  no  name, 
and  then  discover  her  to  be  but  an  unworthy  angel? 

" Angel!  yes,  of  course,  but  an  angel  of  the  Earth, 
not  of  Heaven;  an  angel  of  flesh,  not  of  light!  By  dint 
of  loving,  we  love  wrongly.  We  place  our  mistress 
too  high  and  ourselves  too  low ;  there  is  never  a  pedes- 
tal lofty  enough  for  her,  according  to  our  ideas.  Fools ! 
Oh !  reflection  is  always  wise,  but  desire  is  foolish,  and 
our  conduct  is  regulated  by  our  desire.  We,  above  all, 
with  our  active,  restless  minds,  blase  in  many  respects, 
unbelieving  in  others  and  disrespectful  in  the  remain- 
der, soar  over  life  as  over  an  impure  lake,  and  look  at 
everything  with  contempt,  seeking  in  love  an  altar  be- 
fore which  we  can  humble  our  pride  and  soften  our 
disdain. 

"For  there  is  in  every  man  an  insurmountable  need 
to  fall  on  his  knees  before  no  matter  what  idol,  if  it 
remains  standing  and  allows  itself  to  be  adored.  At 
certain  hours,  a  prayer-bell  rings  in  the  depth  of  the 
heart,  the  sound  of  which  throws  him  upon  his  knees 
as  it  cries:  'Kneel!'  And  then  the  very  being  who 
ignores  God  in  His  churches  and  scorns  kings  upon 
their  thrones,  the  being  who  has  already  exhausted 

[210] 


GERFAUT 

the  hollow  idols  of  glory  and  fame,  not  having  a  tem- 
ple to  pray  in,  makes  a  fetich  for  himself  in  order  to 
have  a  divinity  to  adore,  so  as  not  to  be  alone  in  his 
impiety,  and  to  see,  above  his  head  when  he  arises, 
something  that  shall  not  be  empty  and  vacant  space. 
This  man  seeks  a  woman,  takes  all  that  he  has,  talent 
passion,  youth,  enthusiasm,  all  the  wealth  of  his  heart, 
and  throws  them  at  her  feet  like  the  mantle  that  Ra- 
leigh spread  out  before  Elizabeth,  and  he  says  to  this 
woman:  'Walk,  O  my  queen;  trample  under  your 
blessed  feet  the  heart  of  your  adoring  slave!'  This 
man  is  a  fool,  is  he  not?  For  when  the  queen  has 
passed,  what  remains  upon  the  mantle?  Mud!" 

Gerfaut  accompanied  these  words  with  such  a  with- 
ering glance  that  the  one  for  whom  they  were  intended 
felt  her  blood  freeze  in  her  veins,  and  withdrew  the 
hand  her  husband  had  kept  till  then  in  his;  she  soon 
arose  and  seated  herself  at  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
under  the  pretext  of  getting  nearer  the  lamp  to  work, 
but  in  reality  in  order  to  withdraw  from  Christian's 
vicinity.  Clemence  had  expected  her  lover's  anger, 
but  not  his  scorn;  she  had  not  strength  to  endure  this 
torture,  and  the  conjugal  love  which  had,  not  without 
difficulty,  inflamed  her  heart  for  the  last  few  days,  fell 
to  ashes  at  the  first  breath  of  Octave's  indignation. 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  greeted  the  Vicomte's 
words  indulgently;  for,  from  consummate  pride,  she 
separated  herself  from  other  women. 

"So  then,"  said  she,  "you  pretend  that  if  to-day  love 
is  painted  under  false  and  vulgar  colors,  the  fault  is  the 
model's,  not  the  artist's." 

[211] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"You  express  my  thought  much  better  than  I  could 
have  done  it  myself,"  said  Gerfaut,  in  an  ironical 
tone;  "where  are  the  angels  whose  portraits  are 
called  for?" 

"They  are  in  our  poetical  dreams,"  said  Marillac, 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  with  an  inspired  air. 

"Very  well!  tell  us  your  dreams  then,  instead  of 
copying  a  reality  which  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
render  poetic,  since  you  yourselves  see  it  without 
illusions." 

Gerfaut  smiled  bitterly  at  this  suggestion,  artlessly 
uttered  by  the  Baron. 

"My  dreams,"  he  replied,  "I  should  tell  them  to 
you  poorly  indeed,  for  the  first  blessing  of  the  awaken- 
ing is  forgetfulness,  and  to-day  I  am  awake.  How- 
ever, I  remember  how  I  allowed  myself  to  be  once 
overcome  by  a  dream  that  has  now  vanished,  but  still 
emits  its  luminous  trail  in  my  eyes.  I  thought  I  had 
discovered,  under  a  beautiful  and  attractive  appear- 
ance, the  richest  treasure  that  the  earth  can  bestow 
upon  the  heart  of  man;  I  thought  I  had  discovered  a 
soul,  that  divine  mystery,  deep  as  the  ocean,  ardent  as 
a  flame,  pure  as  air,  glorious  as  heaven  itself,  infinite 
as  space,  immortal  as  eternity!  It  was  another  uni- 
verse, where  I  should  be  king.  With  what  ardent  and 
holy  love  I  attempted  the  conquest  of  this  new  world, 
but,  less  fortunate  than  Columbus,  I  met  with  ship- 
wreck instead  of  triumph." 

Clemence,  at  this  avowal  of  her  lover's  defeat,  threw 
him  a  glance  of  intense  contradiction,  then  lowered  her 
eyes,  for  she  felt  her  face  suffused  with  burning  blushes. 
[212] 


GERFAUT 

When  he  entered  his  room  that  night,  Gerfaut  went 
straight  to  the  window.  He  could  see  in  the  darkness 
the  light  which  gleamed  in  Clemence's  room. 

"She  is  alone,"  said  he  to  himself;  "certainly  heaven 
protects  us,  for  in  the  state  of  exasperation  I  am  in,  I 
should  have  killed  them  both." 


CHAPTER  XV 

DECLARATION  OF  WAR 

R  from  rejoicing  at  this  moment  in 
the  triumph  he  had  just  obtained, 
Gerfaut  fell  into  one  of  those  attacks 
of  disenchantment,  during  which, 
urged  on  by  some  unknown  demon, 
he  unmercifully  administered  to  him- 
self-his  own  dreaded  sarcasm.  Being 
unable  to  sleep,  he  arose  and  opened 
his  window  again,  and  remained  with  his  elbows  rest- 
ing upon  the  sill  for  some  time.  The  night  was  calm, 
numberless  stars  twinkled  in  the  heavens,  the  moon 
bathed  with  its  silvery  light  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
through  which  a  monotonous  breeze  softly  rustled. 
After  gazing  at  this  melancholy  picture  of  sleeping  na- 
ture, the  poet  smiled  disdainfully,  and  said  to  himself: 
"This  comedy  must  end.  I  can  not  waste  my  life 
thus.  Doubtless,  glory  is  a  dream  as  well  as  love;  to 
pass  the  night  idiotically  gazing  at  the  moon  and  stars 
is,  after  all,  as  reasonable  as  to  grow  pale  over  a  work 
destined  to  live  a  day,  a  year,  or  a  century!  for  what 
renown  lasts  longer  than  that  ?  If  I  were  really  loved, 
I  should  not  regret  those  wasted  hours;  but  is  it  true 
that  I  am  loved  ?  There  are  moments  when  I  recover 
my  coolness  and  clearness  of  mind,  a  degree  of  self- 
possession  incompatible  with  the  enthusiasm  of  genu- 


GERFAUT 

ine  passion;  at  other  times,  it  is  true,  a  sudden  agita- 
tion renders  me  powerless  and  leaves  me  as  weak  as 
a  child.  Oh,  yes,  I  love  her  in  a  strange  manner;  the 
sentiment  that  I  feel  for  her  has  become  a  study  of 
the  mind  as  well  as  an  emotion  of  the  heart,  and  that 
is  what  gives  it  its  despotic  tenacity;  for  a  material 
impression  weakens  and  gradually  dies  out,  but  when 
an  energetic  intelligence  is  brought  to  bear  upon  it,  it 
becomes  desperate.  I  should  be  wrong  to  complain. 
Passion,  a  passive  sentiment!  This  word  has  a  con- 
tradictory meaning  for  me.  I  am  a  lover  as  Napoleon 
was  an  emperor:  nobody  forced  the  crown  upon  him, 
he  took  it  and  crowned  himself  with  his  own  hand. 
If  my  crown  happens  to  be  a  thorny  one,  whom  can 
I  accuse  ?  Did  not  my  brow  crave  it  ? 

"I  have  loved  this  woman  of  my  own  choosing,  above 
all  others;  the  choice  made,  I  have  worked  at  my  love 
as  I  would  at  a  cherished  poem;  it  has  been  the  sub- 
ject of  all  my  meditations,  the  fairy  of  all  my  dreams, 
for  more  than  a  year.  I  have  not  had  a  thought  in 
which  I  have  not  paid  her  homage.  I  have  devoted 
my  talents  to  her;  it  seemed  to  me  that  by  loving  and 
perpetually  contemplating  her  image,  I  might  at  last 
become  worthy  of  painting  it.  I  was  conscious  of  a 
grand  future,  if  only  she  had  understood  me;  I  often 
thought  of  Raphael  and  his  own  Fornarina.  There  is 
a  throne  vacant  in  poetry;  I  had  dreamed  of  this 
throne  in  order  to  lay  it  at  Clemence's  feet.  Oh!  al- 
though this  may  never  be  more  than. a  dream,  this 
dream  has  given  me  hours  of  incomparable  happiness! 
I  should  be  ungrateful  to  deny  it. 
[215] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"And  yet  this  love  is  only  a  fictitious  sentiment;  I 
realize  it  to-day.  It  is  not  with  her  that  I  am  in  love, 
it  is  with  a  woman  created  by  my  imagination,  and 
whom  I  see  clearly  within  this  unfeeling  marble  shape. 
When  we  have  meditated  for  a  long  time,  our  thoughts 
end  by  taking  life  and  walking  by  our  side.  I  can 
now  understand  the  allegory  of  Adam  taking  Eve  from 
his  own  substance;  but  flesh  forms  a  palpitating  flesh 
akin  to  itself;  the  mind  creates  only  a  shadow,  and  a 
shadow  can  not  animate  a  dead  body.  Two  dead 
bodies  can  not  make  a  living  one ;  a  body  without  a 
soul  is  only  a  cadaver — and  she  has  no  soul." 

Gerfaut  sat  motionless  for  some  time  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands;  suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and 
burst  into  harsh  laughter. 

"Enough  of  this  soaring  in  the  clouds!"  he  ex- 
claimed; "let  us  come  down  to  earth  again.  It  is 
permissible  to  think  in  verse,  but  one  must  act  in 
prose,  and  that  is  what  I  shall  do  to-morrow.  This 
woman's  caprices,  which  she  takes  for  efforts  of  virtue, 
have  made  of  me  a  cruel  and  inexorable  man;  I  have 
begged  in  vain  for  peace ;  if  she  wishes  war,  very  well, 
so  be  it,  she  shall  have  war." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GERFAUT  WINS  A  POINT 

OR  several  days,  Gerfaut  followed, 
with  unrelenting  perseverance,  the 
plan  which  he  had  mapped  out  in 
that  eventful  night.  The  most  ex- 
acting woman  could  but  appear  sat- 
isfied with  the  politeness  he  dis- 
played toward  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim,  but  nothing  in  his  conduct 
showed  the  slightest  desire  for  an  explanation.  He 
was  so  careful  of  every  look,  gesture,  and  word  of  his, 
that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  discover  the 
slightest  difference  in  his  actions  toward  Mademoiselle 
de  Corandeuil,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  treated 
Clemence.  His  choicest  attentions  and  most  partic- 
ular efforts  at  amiability  were  bestowed  upon  Aline. 
He  used  as  much  caution  as  cunning,  in  his  little 
game,  for  he  knew  that  in  spite  of  her  inclination  to 
be  jealous,  Madame  de  Bergenheim  would  never  be- 
lieve in  a  sudden  desertion,  and  that  she  would  surely 
discover  the  object  of  his  ruse,  if  he  made  the  mistake 
of  exaggerating  it  in  the  least. 

While  renouncing  the  idea  of  a  direct  attack,  he  did 
not  work  with  any  less  care  to  fortify  his  position. 
He  redoubled  his  activity  in  widening  the  breach  be- 
[217] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

tween  the  old  aunt  and  the  husband,  following  the 
principles  of  military  art,  that  one  should  become 
master  of  the  exterior  works  of  a  stronghold  before 
seriously  attacking  its  ramparts. 

It  was,  in  a  way,  by  reflection  that  Octave's  passion 
reached  Clemence.  Every  few  moments  she  learned 
some  detail  of  this  indirect  attack,  to  which  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  raise  any  objections. 

"Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  has  promised  to  spend  a  fort- 
night longer  with  us,"  said  her  aunt  to  her,  in  a  jeering 
tone. 

"  Really,  Gerfaut  is  very  obliging,"  said  her  husband, 
in  his  turn;  "he  thinks  it  very  strange  that  we  have 
not  had  a  genealogical  tree  made  to  put  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. He  pretends  that  it  is  an  indispensable 
complement  to  my  collection  of  family  portraits,  and 
he  offers  to  do  me  the  favor  of  assuming  charge  of  it. 
It  seems,  from  what  your  aunt  tells  me,  that  he  is  very 
learned  in  heraldry.  Would  you  believe  it,  he  spent 
the  whole  morning  in  the  library  looking  over  files  of 
old  manuscripts?  I  am  delighted,  for  this  will  pro- 
long his  stay  here.  He  is  a  very  charming  fellow;  a 
Liberal  in  politics,  but  a  gentleman  at  heart.  Maril- 
lac,  who  is  a  superb  penman,  undertakes  to  make  a 
fair  copy  of  the  genealogy  and  to  illuminate  the  crests. 
Do  you  know,  we  can  not  find  my  great-grandmother 
Cantelescar's  coat-of-arms  ?  But,  my  darling,  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  are  not  very  kindly  disposed  toward 
your  cousin  Gerfaut. "  <  « 

Madame  de  Bergenheim,  when  these  remarks  and 
various  others  of  a  similar  nature  came  up,  tried  to 
[218] 


GERFAUT 

change  the  conversation,  but  she  felt  an  antipathy  for 
her  husband  bordering  upon  aversion.  For  lack  of 
intelligence  is  one  of  the  faults  women  can  pardon  the 
least;  they  look  upon  a  confidence  which  is  lulled  into 
security  by  faith  in  their  honor,  and  a  blindness  which 
does  not  suspect  the  possibility  of  a  fall,  as  positive 
crimes. 

"Look  at  these  pretty  verses  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut 
has  written  in  my  album,  Clemence,"  said  Aline,  in 
her  turn.  During  vacation,  among  her  other  pleas- 
ures forbidden  her  at  the  Sacred  Heart,  the  young  girl 
had  purchased  a  superbly  bound  album,  containing 
so  far  but  two  ugly  sketches  in  sepia,  one  very  bad  at- 
tempt in  water-colors,  and  the  verses  in  question.  She 
called  this  "my  album!"  as  she  called  a  certain  little 
blank  book,  "my  diary!"  To  the  latter  she  confided 
every  night  the  important  events  of  the  day.  This 
book  had  assumed  such  proportions,  during  the  last 
few  days,  that  it  threatened  to  reach  the  dimensions 
of  the  Duchesse  d'Abrantes'  memoires,  but  if  the  album 
was  free  to  public  admiration,  nobody  ever  saw  the 
diary,  and  Justine  herself  never  had  been  able  to  dis- 
cover the  sanctuary  that  concealed  this  mysterious 
manuscript. 

Aline  was  not  so  pleasantly  received  as  the  others, 
and  Madame  de  Bergenheim  hardly  concealed  the  ill- 
humor  her  pretty  sister-in-law's  beaming  face  caused 
her  every  time  Octave's  name  was  mentioned. 

The  latter's  diplomatic  conduct  was  bearing  fruit, 
and  his  expectations  were  being  fulfilled  with  a  pre- 
cision which  proved  the  correctness  of  his  calculations. 
[219! 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  contradictory  sentiments  of 
fear,  remorse,  vexation,  love,  and  jealousy,  Clemence's 
head  was  so  turned,  at  times,  that  she  did  not  know 
what  she  did  want.  She  found  herself  in  one  of  those 
situations  when  a  woman  of  a  complex  and  mobile 
character  whom  all  sensations  impress,  passes,  with 
surprising  facility,  from  one  resolve  to  another  entirely 
opposed  to  it.  After  being  frightened  beyond  measure 
by  her  lover's  presence  in  her  husband's  house,  she 
ended  by  becoming  accustomed  to  it,  and  then  by  ridi- 
culing her  first  terror. 

"Truly,"  she  thought,  at  times,  "I  was  too  silly  thus 
to  torment  myself  and  make  myself  ill;  I  was  wanting 
in  self-respect  to  mistrust  myself  to  such  an  extent,  and 
to  see  danger  where  there  was  none.  He  can  not  ex- 
pect to  make  himself  so  very  formidable  while  scrawl- 
ing this  genealogical  tree.  If  he  came  one  hundred 
leagues  from  Paris  for  that,  he  really  does  not  merit 
such  severe  treatment." 

Then,  having  thus  reassured  herself  against  the 
perils  of  her  position,  without  realizing  that  to  fear 
danger  less  was  to  embolden  love,  she  proceeded  to 
examine  her  lover's  conduct. 

"He  seems  perfectly  resigned,"  she  said,  to  herself; 
"not  one  word  or  glance  for  two  days!  Since  he  re- 
signs himself  so  easily,  he  might,  it  seems  to  me,  obey 
me  entirely  and  go  away;  or,  if  he  wishes  to  disobey 
me,  he  might  do  it  in  a  less  disagreeable  manner.  For 
really,  his  manner  is  almost  rude;  he  might  at  least 
remember  that  I  am  his  hostess,  and  that  he  is  in  my 
house.  I  do  not  see  what  pleasure  he  can  take  in 

[220] 


GERFAUT 

talking  to  this  little  girl.  I  wager  that  his  only  object 
is  to  annoy  me!  He  deceives  himself  most  assuredly; 
it  is  all  the  same  to  me!  But  Aline  takes  all  this 
seriously!  She  has  become  very  coquettish,  the  last 
few  days!  It  certainly  is  very  wrong  for  him  to  try 
to  turn  this  child's  head.  I  should  like  to  know  what 
he  would  say  to  justify  himself." 

Thus,  little  by  little,  she  mentally  reached  the  point 
to  which  Octave  wished  to  bring  her.  The  desire  for 
an  explanation  with  him,  which  she  dared  not  admit 
to  herself  at  first  from  a  feeling  of  pride,  became 
greater  from  day  to  day,  and  at  last  Octave  himself 
could  not  have  longed  more  ardently  for  an  interview. 
Now  that  Octave  seemed  to  forget  her,  she  realized 
that  she  loved  him  almost  to  adoration.  She  reproached 
herself  for  her  harshness  toward  him  more  than  she 
had  ever  reproached  herself  for  her  weakness.  Her 
antipathy  for  all  that  did  not  concern  him  increased 
to  such  a  degree  that  the  most  simple  of  household 
duties  became  odious  to  her.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
all  the  people  about  her  were  enemies  bent  upon  sep- 
arating her  from  happiness,  for  happiness  was  Octave; 
and  this  happiness,  made  up  of  words,  letters,  glances 
from  him,  was  lost! 

The  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  she  found  this  tor- 
ture beyond  her  strength. 

"I  shall  become  insane,"  she  thought;  " to-morrow 
I  will  speak  to  him." 

Gerfaut  was  saying  to  himself,  at  nearly  the  same 
moment:  "To-morrow  I  will  have  a  talk  with  her." 
Thus,  by  a  strange  sympathy,  their  hearts  seemed  to 

[221] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

understand  each  other  in  spite  of  their  separation. 
But  what  was  an  irresistible  attraction  in  Clemence 
was  only  a  determination  resulting  from  almost  a 
mathematical  calculation  on  her  lover's  part.  By  the 
aid  of  this  gift  of  second  sight  which  intelligent  men 
who  are  in  love  sometimes  possess,  he  had  followed, 
degree  by  degree,  the  variations  of  her  heart,  without 
her  saying  one  word;  and  in  spite  of  the  veil  of  scorn 
and  indifference  with  which  she  still  had  the  courage 
to  shield  herself,  he  had  not  lost  a  single  one  of  the 
tortures  she  had  endured  for  the  last  four  days.  Now 
he  thought  that  he  had  discovered  enough  to  allow  him 
to  risk  a  step  that,  until  then,  he  would  have  deemed 
dangerous;  and  with  the  egotism  common  to  all  men, 
even  the  best  of  lovers,  he  trusted  in  the  weakness  born 
of  sorrow. 

The  next  day  a  hunting  party  was  arranged  with 
some  of  the  neighbors.  Early  hi  the  morning,  Ber- 
genheim  and  Marillac  started  for  the  rendezvous, 
which  was  at  the  foot  of  the  large  oak-tree  where  the 
artist's  tHe-h-ttte  had  been  so  cruelly  interrupted. 
Gerfaut  refused  to  join  them,  under  the  pretence  of 
finishing  an  article  for  the  Revue  de  Paris,  and  re- 
mained at  home  with  the  three  ladies.  As  soon  as 
dinner  was  ended,  he  went  to  his  room  in  order  to 
give  a  semblance  of  truth  to  his  excuse. 

He  had  been  busying  himself  for  some  time  trim- 
ming a  quill  pen  at  the  window,  which  looked  out  upon 
the  park,  when  he  saw  in  the  garden,  directly  beneath 
him,  Constance's  forefeet  and  nose;  soon  the  dog 
jumped  upon  the  sill  in  order  to  warm  herself  in  the  sun. 

[222] 


GERFAUT 

"The  old  lady  has  entered  her  sanctuary,"  thought 
Gerfaut,  who  knew  that  it  was  as  impossible  to  see 
Constance  without  her  mistress  as  St.-Roch  without 
his  dog. 

A  moment  later  he  saw  Justine  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Corandeuil's  maid  starting  off,  arm  in  arm,  as  if 
they  were  going  for  a  promenade.  Finally,  he  had 
hardly  written  half  a  page,  when  he  noticed  Aline 
opposite  his  window,  with  a  straw  hat  upon  her  head 
and  a  watering-pot  in  her  hand.  A  servant  carried  a 
bucket  of  water  and  placed  it  near  a  mass  of  dahlias, 
which  the  young  girl  had  taken  under  her  protection, 
and  she  at  once  set  about  her  work  with  great  zeal. 

"Now,"  said  Gerfaut,  "let  us  see  whether  the  place 
is  approachable."  And  closing  his  desk,  he  stealthily 
descended  the  stairs. 

After  crossing  the  vestibule  on  the  first  floor,  and  a 
small  gallery  decorated  with  commonplace  pictures, 
he  found  himself  at  the  library  door.  Thanks  to  the 
genealogical  tree  which  he  had  promised  to  compile, 
he  possessed  a  key  to  this  room,  which  was  not  usually 
open.  By  dint  of  preaching  about  the  danger  in  cer- 
tain reading  for  young  girls,  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil  had  caused  this  system  of  locking-up,  especially 
designed  to  preserve  Aline  from  the  temptation  of 
opening  certain  novels  which  the  old  lady  rejected  en 
masse.  "Young  girls  did  not  read  novels  in  1780," 
she  would  say.  This  put  an  end  to  all  discussion  and 
cut  short  the  protestations  of  the  young  girl,  who  was 
brought  up  exclusively  upon  a  diet  of  Le  Ragois  and 
Mentelle's  geography,  and  such  solid  mental  food. 
[223] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Several  large  books  and  numerous  manuscripts  were 
spread  out  upon  the  table  in  the  library,  together  with 
a  wide  sheet  of  Holland  paper,  upon  which  was  sketched 
the  family  tree  of  the  Bergenheims.  Instead  of  going 
to  work,  however,  Gerfaut  locked  the  door,  and  then 
went  across  the  room  and  pressed  a  little  knob  which 
opened  a  small  door  no  one  would  have  noticed  at  first. 

Leather  bands  representing  the  binding  of  books, 
like  those  which  covered  the  rest  of  the  walls,  made 
it  necessary  for  one  to  be  informed  of  the  existence 
of  this  secret  exit  in  order  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
rest  of  the  room.  This  door  had  had  a  singular  at- 
traction for  Gerfaut  ever  since  the  day  he  first  discov- 
ered it.  After  silently  opening  it,  he  found  himself 
in  a  small  passage  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  small 
spiral  staircase  leading  to  the  floor  above.  A  cat  creep- 
ing to  surprise  a  bird  asleep  could  not  have  walked 
more  stealthily  than  he,  as  he  mounted  the  stairs. 

When  he  crossed  the  last  step,  he  found  himself  in 
a  small  room,  filled  with  wardrobes,  lighted  by  a  small 
glass  door  covered  with  a  muslin  curtain.  This  door 
opened  into  a  little  parlor  which  separated  Madame 
de  Bergenheim's  private  sitting-room  from  her  sleep- 
ing-apartment. The  only  window  was  opposite  the 
closet  and  occupied  almost  the  whole  of  the  wood- 
work, the  rest  of  which  was  hung  with  pearl-gray  stuff 
with  lilac  figures  upon  it.  A  broad,  low  divan,  cov- 
ered with  the  same  material  as  the  hanging,  occupied 
the  space  in  front  of  the  window.  It  was  the  only 
piece  of  furniture,  and  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to 
introduce  even  one  chair  more. 
[224] 


GERFAUT 

The  blinds  were  carefully  closed,  as  well  as  the 
double  curtains,  and  they  let  in  so  little  light  that  Oc- 
tave had  to  accustom  himself  to  the  obscurity  before 
he  could  distinguish  Madame  de  Bergenheim  through 
the  muslin  curtains  and  the  glass  door.  She  was  lying 
upon  the  divan,  with  her  head  turned  in  his  direction 
and  a  book  in  her  hand.  He  first  thought  her  asleep, 
but  soon  noticed  her  gleaming  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
ceiling. 

"She  is  not  asleep,  she  does  not  read,  then  she  is 
thinking  of  me!"  said  he  to  himself,  by  a  logical  de- 
duction he  believed  incontestable. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  seeing  that  the  young 
woman  remained  motionless,  Gerfaut  tried  to  turn  the 
handle  of  the  door  as  softly  as  possible  so  as  to  make 
his  entrance  quietly.  The  bolt  had  just  noiselessly 
slipped  in  the  lock  when  the  drawing-room  door  sud- 
denly opened,  a  flood  of  light  inundated  the  floor,  and 
Aline  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  watering-pot  in 
hand. 

The  young  girl  stopped  an  instant,  for  she  thought 
her  sister-in-law  was  asleep;  but,  meeting  in  the  shade 
Clemence's  sparkling  eyes,  she  entered,  saying  in  a 
fresh,  silvery  voice : 

"All  my  flowers  are  doing  well;  I  have  come  to 
water  yours." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  made  no  reply,  but  her  eye- 
brows contracted  slightly  as  she  watched  the  young 
girl  kneel  before  a  superb  datura.  This  almost  im- 
perceptible symptom,  and  the  rather  ill-humored  look, 
foretold  a  storm.  A  few  drops  of  water  falling  upon 
i5  [225] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

the  floor  gave  her  the  needed  pretext,  and  Gerfaut, 
as  much  in  love  as  he  was,  could  not  help  thinking  of 
the  fable  of  the  wolf  and  the  lamb,  when  he  heard  the 
lady  of  his  thoughts  exclaim,  in  an  impatient  tone : 

"Let  those  flowers  alone;  they  do  not  need  to  be 
watered.  Do  you  not  see  that  you  are  wetting  the 
floor?" 

Aline  turned  around  and  looked  at  the  scolder  for 
a  moment;  then,  placing  her  watering-pot  upon  the 
floor,  she  darted  toward  the  divan  like  a  kitten  that 
has  just  received  a  blow  from  its  mother's  paw  and 
feels  authorized  to  play  with  her.  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim  tried  to  rise  at  this  unexpected  attack;  but 
before  she  could  sit  up,  she  was  thrown  back  upon 
the  cushions  by  the  young  girl,  who  seized  both  her 
hands  and  kissed  her  on  each  cheek. 

"Good  gracious!  how  cross  you  have  been  for  the 
last  few  days!"  cried  Aline,  pressing  her  sister's  hands, 
"Are  you  going  to  be  like  your  aunt?  You  do  noth- 
ing but  scold  now.  What  have  I  done?  Are  you 
vexed  with  me  ?  Do  you  not  love  me  any  longer  ?  " 

Clemence  felt  a  sort  of  remorse  at  this  question, 
asked  with  such  a  loving  accent;  but  her  jealousy  she 
could  not  overcome.  To  make  up  for  it,  she  kissed 
her  sister-in-law  with  a  show  of  affection  which  seemed 
to  satisfy  the  latter. 

"What  are  you  reading?"  asked  the  young  girl, 
picking  up  the  book  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor  in 
their  struggle — "Notre  Dame  de  Paris.  That  must  be 
interesting!  Will  you  let  me  read  it?  Oh!  do!  will 
you?" 

[226] 


GERFAUT 

"You  know  very  well  that  my  aunt  has  forbidden 
you  to  read  novels." 

"Oh!  she  does  that  just  to  annoy  me  and  for  no 
other  reason.  Do  you  think  that  is  right?  Must  I 
remain  an  idiot,  and  never  read  anything  but  history 
and  geography  the  rest  of  my  life?  As  if  I  did  not 
know  that  Louis  Thirteenth  was  the  son  of  Henri 
Fourth,  and  that  there  are  eighty-six  departments  in 
France.  You  read  novels.  Does  it  do  you  any 
harm?" 

Clemence  replied  in  a  rather  imperative  tone,  which 
should  have  put  an  end  to  the  discussion : 

"When  you  are  married  you  can  do  as  you  like. 
Until  then  you  must  leave  your  education  in  the  hands 
of  those  who  are  interested  in  you." 

"All  my  friends,"  replied  Aline  with  a  pout,  "have 
relatives  who  are  interested  in  them,  at  least  as  much 
as  your  aunt  is  in  me,  and  they  do  not  prevent  their 
reading  the  books  they  like.  There  is  Claire  de  Sapo- 
nay,  who  has  read  all  of  Walter  Scott's  novels,  Maleck- 
Adel,  Eugenie  and  Mathilde — and  I  do  not  know  how 
many  more;  Gessner,  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette — 
she  has  read  everything;  and  I — they  have  let  me  read 
Numa  Pompilius  and  Paul  and  Virginia.  Isn't  that 
ridiculous  at  sixteen  years  of  age?" 

"Do  not  get  excited,  but  go  into  the  library  and  get 
one  of  Walter  Scott's  novels;  but  do  not  let  my  aunt 
know  anything  about  it." 

At  this  act  of  capitulation,  by  which  Madame  de 
Bergenheim  doubtless  wished  to  atone  for  her  dis- 
agreeableness,  Aline  made  one  joyous  bound  for  the 
[227] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

glass  door.  Gerfaut  had  barely  time  to  leave  his  post 
of  observation  and  to  conceal  himself  between  two 
wardrobes,  under  a  cloak  which  was  hanging  there, 
when  the  young  girl  made  her  appearance,  but  she 
paid  no  attention  to  the  pair  of  legs  which  were  but 
imperfectly  concealed.  She  bounded  down  the  stairs 
and  returned  a  moment  later  with  the  precious  vol- 
umes in  her  hand. 

"  Waverley,  or,  Scotland  Sixty  Years  Ago"  said  she, 
as  she  read  the  title.  "I  took  the  first  one  on  the  shelf, 
because  you  are  going  to  lend  them  all  to  me,  one  by 
one,  are  you  not?  Claire  says  that  a  young  girl  can 
read  Walter  Scott,  and  that  his  books  are  very  nice." 

"We  shall  see  whether  you  are  sensible,"  replied 
Clemence,  smiling;  "but,  above  all  things,  do  not  let 
my  aunt  see  these  books,  for  I  am  the  one  who  would 
get  the  scolding." 

"Do  not  worry;  I  will  go  and  hide  them  in  my 
room." 

She  went  as  far  as  the  door,  then  stopped  and  came 
back  a  few  steps. 

"It  seems,"  said  she,  "that  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut 
worked  in  the  library  yesterday,  for  there  are  piles  of 
books  on  the  table.  It  is  very  kind  of  him  to  be  willing 
to  make  this  tree,  is  it  not?  Shall  we  both  be  in  it? 
Do  they  put  women  in  such  things  ?  I  hope  your  aunt 
will  not  be  there;  she  is  not  one  of  our  family." 

Clemence 's  face  clouded  again  at  the  name  of  Ger- 
faut. 

"I  know  no  more  about  it  than  you,"  she  replied,  a 
little  harshly. 

[228] 


GERFAUT 

"The  reason  I  asked  is  because  there  are  only  pict- 
ures of  men  in  the  drawing-room;  it  is  not  very  po- 
lite on  their  part.  I  should  much  prefer  that  there 
should  be  portraits  of  our  grandmothers;  it  would  be 
so  amusing  to  see  the  beautiful  dresses  that  they  wore 
in  those  days  rather  than  those  old  beards  which 
frighten  me.  But  perhaps  they  do  not  put  young  girls 
in  genealogical  trees,"  she  continued,  in  a  musing  tone. 

"You  might  ask  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut;  he  wishes 
to  please  you  too  much  to  refuse  to  tell  you,"  said 
Clemence,  with  an  almost  ironical  smile. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Aline,  innocently.  "I 
should  never  dare  to  ask  him." 

"You  are  still  afraid  of  him,  then?" 

"A  little,"  replied  the  young  girl,  lowering  her  eyes, 
for  she  felt  her  face  flush. 

This  symptom  made  Madame  de  Bergenheim  more 
vexed  than  ever,  and  she  continued,  in  a  cutting,  sar- 
castic tone: 

"Has  your  cousin  d'Artigues  written  you  lately?" 

Mademoiselle  de  Bergenheim  raised  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  an  indifferent  air: 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"What!  you  do  not  know  whether  you  have  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  your  cousin?"  continued  Cle- 
mence, laughing  affectedly. 

"Ah!  Alphonse — no,  that  is,  yes;  but  it  was  a  long 
time  ago." 

"How  cold  and  indifferent  you  are  all  of  a  sudden 
to  this  dear  Alphonse!  You  do  not  remember,  then, 
how  you  wept  at  his  departure,  a  year  ago,  and  how 
[229] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

vexed  you  were  with  your  brother  who  tried  to  tease 
you  about  this  beautiful  affection,  and  how  you  swore 
that  you  would  never  have  any  other  husband  than 
your  cousin?" 

"I  was  a  simpleton,  and  Christian  was  right.  Al- 
phonse  is  only  one  year  older  than  I!  Think  of  it, 
what  a  fine  couple  we  should  make!  I  know  that  I 
am  not  very  sensible,  and  so  it  is  necessary  that  my 
husband  should  be  wise  enough  for  both.  Christian 
is  nine  years  older  than  you,  is  he  not?" 

"Do  you  think  that  is  too  much?"  asked  Madame 
de  Bergenheim. 

"Quite  the  contrary." 

"What  age  should  you  like  your  husband  to  be?" 

"Oh! — thirty,"  replied  the  young  girl,  after  a  slight 
hesitation. 

"Monsieur  de  Gerfaut's  age?" 

They  gazed  at  each  other  in  silence.  Octave,  who, 
from  his  place  of  concealment  heard  the  whole  of  this 
conversation,  noticed  the  sad  expression  which  passed 
over  Clemence's  face,  and  seemed  to  provoke  entire 
confidence.  The  young  girl  allowed  herself  to  be 
caught  by  this  appearance  of  interest  and  affection. 

"I  will  tell  you  something,"  said  she,  "if  you  will 
promise  never  to  tell  a  soul." 

"To  whom  should  I  repeat  it?  You  know  that  I 
am  very  discreet  as  to  your  little  secrets." 

"It  is  because  this  might  be  perhaps  a  great  secret," 
continued  Aline. 

Clemence  took  her  sister-in-law's  hand,  and  drew 
her  down  beside  her. 

[23P] 


GERFAUT 

"You  know,"  said  Aline,  "that  Christian  has  prom- 
ised to  give  me  a  watch  like  yours,  because  I  do  not 
like  mine.  Yesterday,  when  we  were  out  walking,  I 
told  him  I  thought  it  was  very  unkind  of  him  not  to 
have  given  it  to  me  yet.  Do  you  know  what  he  re- 
plied ? — It  is  true  that  he  laughed  a  little — '  It  is  hardly 
worth  while  buying  you  one  now;  when  you  are  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Gerfaut,  your  husband  will  give  you 
one.'" 

"Your  brother  was  joking  at  your  expense;  how 
could  you  be  such  a  child  as  not  to  perceive  it?" 

"I  am  not  such  a  child!"  exclaimed  Aline,  rising 
with  a  vexed  air;  "I  know  what  I  have  seen.  They 
were  talking  a  long  time  together  in  the  drawing-room 
last  evening,  and  I  am  sure  they  were  speaking  of  me." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  burst  into  laughter,  which 
increased  her  sister-in-law's  vexation,  for  she  was  less 
and  less  disposed  to  be  treated  like  a  young  girl. 

"Poor  Aline!"  said  the  Baroness,  at  last;  "they 
were  talking  about  the  fifth  portrait;  Monsieur  de 
Gerfaut  can  not  find  the  name  of  the  original  among 
the  old  papers,  and  he  thinks  he  did  not  belong  to  the 
family.  You  know,  that  old  face  with  the  gray  beard, 
near  the  door." 

The  young  girl  bent  her  head,  like  a  child  who  sees 
her  naughty  sister  throw  down  her  castle  of  cards. 

"And  how  do  you  know?"  said  she,  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection.  "You  were  at  the  piano.  How 
could  you  hear  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  what 
Monsieur  de  Gerfaut  was  saying?" 

It  was  Clemence's  turn  to  hang  her  head,  for  it 
[231] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

seemed  to  her  that  the  girl  had  suspected  the  constant 
attention  which,  under  an  affectation  of  indifference, 
never  allowed  her  to  lose  one  of  Octave's  words.  As 
usual,  she  concealed  her  embarrassment  by  redoubling 
her  sarcasm. 

"Very  likely,"  said  she,  "I  was  mistaken,  and  you 
may  be  right  after  all.  What  day  shall  we  have  the 
honor  of  saluting  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Gerfaut?" 

"I  foolishly  told  you  what  I  imagined,  and  you  at 
once  make  fun  of  me,"  said  Aline,  whose  round  face 
lengthened  at  each  word,  and  passed  from  rose-color 
to  scarlet;  "is  it  my  fault  that  my  brother  said  this?" 

"I  do  not  think  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  speak 
of  it,  for  you  to  think  a  great  deal  about  the  matter." 

"Very  well;  must  one  not  think  of  something?" 

"But  one  should  be  careful  of  one's  thoughts;  it  is 
not  proper  for  a  young  girl  to  think  of  any  man,"  re- 
plied Clemence,  with  an  accent  of  severity  which 
would  have  made  her  aunt  recognize  with  pride  the 
pure  blood  of  the  Corandeuils. 

"I  think  it  is  more  proper  for  a  young  girl  to  do  so 
than  for  a  married  woman." 

At  this  unexpected  retort,  Madame  de  Bergenheim 
lost  countenance  and  sat  speechless  before  the  young 
maiden,  like  a  pupil  who  has  just  been  punished  by 
his  teacher. 

"Where  the  devil  did  the  little  serpent  get  that 
idea?"  thought  Gerfaut,  who  was  very  ill  at  ease  be- 
tween the  two  wardrobes  where  he  was  concealed. 

Seeing  that  her  sister-in-law  did  not  reply  to  her, 
Aline  took  this  silence  from  confusion  for  an  expres- 
[232] 


GERFAUT 

sion  of  bad  temper,  and  at  once  became  angry  in  her 
turn. 

"You  are  very  cross  to-day,"  said  she;  "good-by,  I 
do  not  want  your  books." 

She  threw  the  volumes  of  Waverley  upon  the  sofa, 
picked  up  her  watering-pot  and  went  out,  closing  the 
door  with  a  loud  bang.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  sat 
motionless  with  a  pensive,  gloomy  air,  as  if  the  young 
girl's  remark  had  changed  her  into  a  statue. 

"Shall  I  enter?"  said  Octave  to  himself,  leaving  his 
niche  and  putting  his  hand  upon  the  door-knob. 
"This  little  simpleton  has  done  me  an  infinite  wrong 
with  her  silly  speeches.  I  am  sure  that  she  is  cruising 
with  full  sails  set  upon  the  stormy  sea  of  remorse,  and 
that  those  two  rosebuds  she  is  gazing  at  now  seem  to 
her  like  her  husband's  eyes." 

Before  the  poet  could  make  up  his  mind  what  to  do, 
the  Baroness  arose  and  left  the  room,  closing  the  door 
almost  as  noisily  as  her  sister-in-law  had  done. 

Gerfaut  went  downstairs,  cursing,  from  the  very 
depths  of  his  heart,  boarding-school  misses  and  six- 
teen-year-old hearts.  After  walking  up  and  down  the 
library  for  a  few  moments,  he  left  it  and  started  to  re- 
turn to  his  room.  As  he  passed  the  drawing-room, 
loud  music  reached  his  ear;  chromatic  fireworks, 
scales  running  with  the  rapidity  of  the  cataract  of 
Niagara,  extraordinary  arpeggios,  hammering  in  the 
bass  with  a  petulance  and  frenzy  which  proved  that 
the  furie  jrangaise  is  not  the  exclusive  right  of  the 
stronger  sex.  In  this  jumble  of  grave,  wild,  and  sad 
notes,  Gerfaut  recognized,  by  the  clearness  of  touch 
[2331 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

and  brilliancy  of  some  of  the  passages,  that  this  im- 
provisation could  not  come  from  Aline's  unpractised 
fingers.  He  understood  that  the  piano  must  be  at 
this  moment  Madame  de  Bergenheim's  confidant,  and 
that  she  was  pouring  out  the  contradictory  emotions 
in  which  she  had  indulged  for  several  days;  for,  to  a 
heart  deprived  of  another  heart  in  which  to  confide  its 
joys  and  woes,  music  is  a  friend  that  listens  and  re- 
plies. 

Gerfaut  listened  for  some  time  in  silence,  with  his 
head  leaning  against  the  drawing-room  door.  Cle- 
mence  wandered  through  vague  melodies  without  fixing 
upon  any  one  in  particular.  At  last  a  thought  seemed 
to  captivate  her.  After  playing  the  first  measures  of 
the  romance  from  Saul,  she  resumed  the  motive  with 
more  precision,  and  when  she  had  finished  the  ritor- 
nello  she  began  to  sing,  in  a  soft,  veiled  voice, 

"Assisa  al  pit  d'un  salice " 

Gerfaut  had  heard  her  sing  this  several  times,  in 
society,  but  never  with  this  depth  of  expression.  She 
sang  before  strangers  with  her  lips;  now  it  all  came 
from  her  heart.  At  the  third  verse,  when  he  believed 
her  to  be  exalted  by  her  singing  and  the  passion  ex- 
haled in  this  exquisite  song,  the  poet  softly  entered, 
judging  it  to  be  a  favorable  moment,  and  enough  agi- 
tated himself  to  believe  in  the  contagion  of  his  agita- 
tion. 

The  first  sight  which  met  his  eyes  was  Mademoiselle 
de  Corandeuil  stretched  out  in  her  armchair,  head 
thrown  back,  arms  drooping  and  letting  escape  by  way 
[234] 


GERFAUT 

of  accompaniment  a  whistling,  crackling,  nasal  melody. 
The  old  maid's  spectacles  hanging  on  the  end  of  her 
nose  had  singularly  compromised  the  harmony  of  her 
false  front.  The  Gazette  de  France  had  fallen  from 
her  hands  and  decorated  the  back  of  Constance,  who, 
as  usual,  was  lying  at  her  mistress's  feet. 

" Horrible  old  witch!"  said  Gerfaut  to  himself. 
"  Decidedly,  the  Fates  are  against  me  to-day."  How- 
ever, as  both  mistress  and  dog  were  sleeping  soundly, 
he  closed  the  door  and  tiptoed  across  the  floor. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  ceased  to  sing,  but  her 
fingers  still  continued  softly  to  play  the  motive  of  the 
song.  As  she  saw  Octave  approaching  her,  she  leaned 
over  to  look  at  her  aunt,  whom  she  had  not  noticed  to 
be  asleep,  as  the  high  back  of  her  chair  was  turned 
toward  her.  Nobody  sleeps  in  a  very  imposing  man- 
ner, but  the  old  lady's  profile,  with  her  false  front 
awry,  was  so  comical  that  it  was  too  much  for  her 
niece's  gravity.  The  desire  to  laugh  was,  for  the  mo- 
ment, stronger  than  respect  for  melancholy;  and 
Clemence,  through  that  necessity  for  sympathy  pecu- 
liar to  acute  merriment,  glanced  involuntarily  at  Oc- 
tave, who  was  also  smiling.  Although  there  was  noth- 
ing sentimental  in  this  exchange  of  thoughts,  the  latter 
hastened  to  profit  by  it;  a  moment  more,  and  he  was 
seated  upon  a  stool  in  front  of  the  piano,  at  her  left 
and  only  a  few  inches  from  her. 

"How  can  a  person  sleep  when  you  are  singing?" 

The  most  embarrassed  freshman  could  have  turned 
out  as  bright  a  speech  as  this;  but  the  eloquence  of 
it  lay  less  in  the  words  than  in  the  expression.  The 
[235] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

ease  and  grace  with  which  Octave  seated  himself,  the 
elegant  precision  of  his  manner,  the  gracious  way  in 
which  he  bent  his  head  toward  Clemence,  while  speak- 
ing, showed  a  great  aptitude  in  this  kind  of  conversa- 
tion. If  the  words  were  those  of  a  freshman,  the  ac- 
cent and  pose  were  those  of  a  graduate. 

The  Baroness's  first  thought  was  to  rise  and  leave 
the  room,  but  an  invincible  charm  held  her  back.  She 
was  not  mistress  enough  of  her  eyes  to  dare  to  let 
them  meet  Octave's;  so  she  turned  them  away  and 
pretended  to  look  at  the  old  lady. 

"I  have  a  particular  talent  for  putting  my  aunt  to 
sleep,"  said  she,  in  a  gay  tone;  "she  will  sleep  until 
evening,  if  I  like;  when  I  stop  playing,  the  silence 
awakens  her." 

"I  beg  of  you,  continue  to  play;  never  awaken  her," 
said  Gerfaut;  and,  as  if  he  were  afraid  his  wish  would 
not  be  granted,  he  began  to  pound  in  the  bass  without 
being  disturbed  by  the  unmusical  sounds. 

"Do  not  play  discords,"  said  Clemence,  laughing; 
"let  us  at  least  put  her  to  sleep  in  tune." 

She  was  wrong  to  say  us;  for  her  lover  took  this  as 
complicity  for  whatever  might  happen.  Us,  in  a  tete- 
a-tete,  is  the  most  traitorous  word  in  the  whole  lan- 
guage. 

It  may  be  that  Clemence  had  no  great  desire  that 
her  aunt  should  awaken;  perhaps  she  wished  to  avoid 
a  conversation;  perhaps  she  wished  to  enjoy  in  silence 
the  happiness  of  feeling  that  she  was  still  loved,  for 
since  he  had  seated  himself  beside  her  Octave's  slight- 
est action  had  become  a  renewed  avowal.  Madame 
[236] 


GERFAUT 

de  Bergenheim  began  to  play  the  Duke  of  Reich- 
stadt's  Waltz,  striking  only  the  first  measure  of  the 
accompaniment,  in  order  to  show  her  lover  where  to 
put  his  fingers. 

The  waltz  went  on.  Clemence  played  the  air  and 
Octave  the  bass,  two  of  their  hands  remaining  unoc- 
cupied— those  that  were  close  to  each  other.  Now, 
what  could  two  idle  hands  do,  when  one  belonged  to 
a  man  deeply  in  love,  the  other  to  a  young  woman  who 
for  some  time  had  ill-treated  her  lover  and  exhausted 
her  severity?  Before  the  end  of  the  first  part,  the 
long  unoccupied,  tapering  fingers  of  the  treble  were 
imprisoned  by  those  of  the  bass,  without  the  least  dis- 
turbance in  the  musical  effect — and  the  old  aunt  slept 
on! 

A  moment  later,  Octave's  lips  were  fastened  upon 
this  rather  trembling  hand,  as  if  he  wished  to  imbibe, 
to  the  very  depths  of  his  soul,  the  soft,  perfumed  tis- 
sue. Twice  the  Baroness  tried  to  disengage  herself, 
twice  her  strength  failed  her.  It  was  beginning  to  be 
time  for  the  aunt  to  awaken,  but  she  slept  more  sound- 
ly than  ever;  and  if  a  slight  indecision  was  to  be  no- 
ticed in  the  upper  hand,  the  lower  notes  were  struck 
with  an  energy  capable  of  metamorphosing  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil  into  a  second  Sleeping  Beauty. 

When  Octave  had  softly  caressed  this  hand  for  a 
long  time,  he  raised  his  head  in  order  to  obtain  a  new 
favor.  This  time  Madame  de  Bergenheim  did  not 
turn  away  her  eyes,  but,  after  looking  at  Octave  for 
an  instant,  she  said  to  him  hi  a  coquettish,  seductive 
way: 

[237] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Aline?" 

The  mute  glance  which  replied  to  this  question  was 
such  an  eloquent  denial  that  all  words  were  superflu- 
ous. His  sweet,  knowing  smile  betrayed  the  secret  of 
his  duplicity;  he  was  understood  and  forgiven.  There 
was  at  this  moment  no  longer  any  doubt,  fear,  or 
struggle  between  them.  They  did  not  feel  the  neces- 
sity of  any  explanation  as  to  the  mutual  suffering  they 
had  undergone ;  the  suffering  no  longer  existed.  They 
were  silent  for  some  time,  happy  to  look  at  each  other, 
to  be  together  and  alone — for  the  old  aunt  still  slept. 
Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard ;  one  would  have  said  that 
sleep  had  overcome  the  two  lovers  also.  Suddenly 
the  charm  was  broken  by  a  terrible  noise,  like  a  trum- 
pet calling  the  guilty  ones  to  repentance. 


[238] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  RUDE   INTERRUPTION 

AD  a  cannon-ball  struck  the  two 
lovers  in  the  midst  of  their  ecstasy 
it  would  have  been  less  cruel  than 
the  sensation  caused  by  this  horrible 
noise.  Clemence  trembled  and  fell 
back  in  her  chair,  frozen  with  hor- 
ror. Gerfaut  rose,  almost  as  fright- 
ened as  she;  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil,  aroused  from  her  sleep,  sat  up  in  her  chair  as 
suddenly  as  a  Jack-in-a-box  that  jumps  in  one's  face 
when  a  spring  is  touched.  As  to  Constance,  she  darted 
under  her  mistress's  chair,  uttering  the  most  piteous 
howls. 

One  of  the  folding-doors  opposite  the  window  open- 
ed; the  bell  of  a  hunting-horn  appeared  in  the  open- 
ing, blown  at  full  blast  and  waking  the  echoes  in 
the  drawing-room.  The  curtain  of  the  drama  had 
risen  upon  a  parody,  a  second  incident  had  changed 
the  pantomime  and  sentiments  of  the  performers.  The 
old  lady  fell  back  in  her  chair  and  stopped  up  her  ears 
with  her  fingers,  as  she  stamped  upon  the  floor;  but 
it  was  in  vain  for  her  to  try  to  speak,  her  words  were 
drowned  by  the  racket  made  by  this  terrible  instru- 
ment. Clemence  also  stopped  her  ears.  After  run- 
[239] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

ning  in  her  terror,  under  every  chair  in  the  room,  Con- 
stance, half  wild,  darted,  in  a  fit  of  despair,  through 
the  partly  opened  door.  Gerfaut  finally  began  to 
laugh  heartily  as  if  he  thought  it  all  great  fun,  for  M. 
de  Bergenheim's  purple  face  took  the  place  of  the 
trumpet  and  his  hearty  laugh  rang  out  almost  as 
noisily. 

"Ah!  ha!  you  did  not  expect  that  kind  of  accom- 
paniment," said  the  Baron,  when  his  gayety  had 
calmed  a  little;  "this  is  the  article  that  you  were 
obliged  to  write  for  the  Revue  de  Paris,  is  it  ?  Do  you 
think  that  I  am  going  to  leave  you  to  sing  Italian  duets 
with  Madame  while  I  am  scouring  the  woods?  You 
must  take  me  for  a  very  careless  husband,  Vicomte. 
Now,  then,  right  about  face!  March!  Do  me  the 
kindness  to  take  a  gun.  We  are  going  to  shoot  a  few 
hares  in  the  Corne  woods  before  supper." 

"  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady, 
when  her  emotion  would  allow  her  to  speak,  "this  is 
indecorous — vulgar — the  conduct  of  a  common  soldier 
— of  a  cannibal !  My  head  is  split  open ;  I  am  sure  to 
have  an  awful  neuralgia  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  It  is 
the  conduct  of  a  herdsman." 

"Do  not  think  of  your  neuralgia,  my  dear  aunt,"  re- 
plied Christian,  whose  good-humor  seemed  aroused  by 
the  day's  sport;  "you  are  as  fresh  as  a  rosebud — and 
Constance  shall  have  some  hares'  heads  roasted  for  her 
supper." 

At  this  moment  a  second  uproar  was  heard  in  the 
courtyard;  a  horn  was  evidently  being  played  by  an 
amateur,  accompanied  by  the  confused  yelps  and  barks 
[240] 


GERFAUT 

of  a  numerous  pack  of  hounds ;  the  whole  was  mingled 
with  shouts  of  laughter,  the  cracking  of  whips,  and 
clamors  of  all  kinds.  In  the  midst  of  this  racket,  a 
cry,  more  piercing  than  the  others,  rang  out,  a  cry  of 
agony  and  despair. 

"Constance!"  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil,  in  a  falsetto  voice  full  of  terror;  she  rushed  to 
one  of  the  windows  and  all  followed  her. 

The  spectacle  in  the  courtyard  was  as  noisy  as  it 
was  picturesque.  Marillac,  seated  upon  a  bench,  was 
blowing  upon  a  trumpet,  trying  to  play  the  waltz  from 
Robert-le-Diable  in  a  true  infernal  manner.  At  his  feet 
were  seven  or  eight  hunters  an,d  as  many  servants  en- 
couraging him  by  their  shouts.  The  Baron's  pack  of 
hounds,  of  great  renown  in  the  country,  was  composed 
of  about  forty  dogs,  all  branded  upon  their  right  thighs 
with  the  Bergenheim  coat-of-arms.  From  time  im- 
memorial, the  chateau's  dogs  had  been  branded  thus 
with  their  master's  crest,  and  Christian,  who  was  a 
great  stickler  for  old  customs,  had  taken  care  not  to 
drop  this  one.  This  feudal  sign  had  probably  actecj 
upon  the  morals  of  the  pack,  for  it  was  impossible  to 
find,  within  twenty  leagues,  a  collection  of  more  snarly 
terriers,  dissolute  hounds,  ugly  bloodhounds,  or  more 
quarrelsome  greyhounds.  They  were  perfect  hunters, 
but  it  seemed  as  if,  on  account  of  their  being  dogs  of 
quality,  all  vices  were  permitted  them. 

In  the  midst  of  this  horde,  without  respect  for  law 

or  order,  the  unfortunate  Constance  had  found  herself 

after  crossing  the  ante-chamber,  vestibule,  and  outside 

steps,   still  pursued  by  the  sounds  from  Christian's 

16  [  241 1 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

huge  horn.  An  honest  merchant  surprised  at  the  turn 
of  the  road  by  a  band  of  robbers  would  not  have  been 
greeted  any  better  than  the  poodle  was  at  the  moment 
she  darted  into  the  yard.  It  may  have  been  that  the 
quarrel  between  the  Bergenheims  and  Corandeuils  had 
reached  the  canine  species;  it  may  have  been  at  the 
instigation  of  the  footmen,  who  all  cordially  detested 
the  beast — the  sad  fact  remains  that  she  was  pounced 
upon  in  a  moment  as  if  she  were  a  deer,  snatched, 
turned  topsy-turvy,  rolled,  kicked  about,  and  bitten  by 
the  forty  four-legged  brigands,  who  each  seemed  deter- 
mined to  carry  away  as  a  trophy  some  portion  of  her 
cafe-au-lait  colored  blanket. 

The  person  who  took  the  most  delight  in  this  de- 
plorable spectacle  was  Pere  Rousselet.  He  actually 
clapped  his  hands  together  behind  his  back,  spread 
his  legs  apart  in  the  attitude  of  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes, 
while  his  coat-skirts  almost  touched  the  ground,  giv- 
ing him  the  look  of  a  kangaroo  resting  his  paws  un- 
der his  tail.  From  his  large  cockatoo  mouth  escaped 
provoking  hisses,  which  encouraged  the  assassins  in 
their  crime  as  much  as  did  Marillac's  racket. 

" Constance!"  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  Coran- 
deuil  a  second  time,  frozen  with  horror  at  the  sight  of 
her  poodle  lying  upon  its  back  among  its  enemies. 

This  call  produced  no  effect  upon  the  animal  section 
of  the  actors  in  this  scene,  but  it  caused  a  sudden 
change  among  the  servants  and  a  few  of  the  hunters; 
the  shouts  of  encouragement  ceased  at  once;  several 
of  the  participants  prudently  tried  to  efface  themselves; 
as  to  Rousselet,  more  politic  than  the  others,  he  boldly 
[242] 


GERFAUT 

darted  into  the  mdlee  and  picked  up  the  fainting  pup- 
py in  his  arms,  carrying  her  as  tenderly  as  a  mother 
would  an  infant,  without  troubling  himself  whether  or 
not  he  was  leaving  part  of  his  coat-tails  with  the  sav- 
age hounds. 

When  the  old  lady  saw  the  object  of  her  love  placed 
at  her  feet  covered  with  mud,  sprinkled  with  blood, 
and  uttering  stifled  groans,  which  she  took  for  the 
death-rattle,  she  fell  back  in  her  chair  speechless. 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Bergenheim  in  a  low  voice,  tak- 
ing his  guest  by  the  arm.  Gerfaut  threw  a  glance 
around  him  and  sought  Clemence's  eyes,  but  he  did 
not  find  them.  Without  troubling  herself  as  to  her 
aunt's  despair,  Clemence  had  hurried  to  her  room;  for 
she  felt  the  necessity  of  solitude  in  order  to  calm  her 
emotions,  or  perhaps  to  live  them  over  a  second  time. 
Octave  resigned  himself  to  following  his  companion. 
At  the  end  of  a  few  moments,  the  barking  of  the  dogs, 
the  joking  of  the  hunters,  even  the  wind  in  the  trees 
and  the  rustling  leaves,  had  bored  Octave  to  such 
an  extent  that,  in  spite  of  himself,  his  face  betrayed 
him. 

"What  a  doleful  face  you  have!"  exclaimed  his  host, 
laughingly.  "I  am  sorry  that  I  took  you  away  from 
Madame  de  Bergenheim;  it  seems  that  you  decidedly 
prefer  her  society  to  ours." 

"Would  you  be  very  jealous  if  I  were  to  admit  the 
fact?"  replied  Octave,  making  an  effort  to  assume  the 
same  laughing  tone  as  the  Baron. 

"Jealous!  No,  upon  my  honor!  However,  you  are 
well  constituted  to  give  umbrage  to  a  poor  husband. 
[243] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

But  jealousy  is  not  one  of  my  traits  of  character,  nor 
among  my  principles." 

"You  are  philosophical!"  said  the  lover,  with  a 
forced  smile. 

"My  philosophy  is  very  simple.  I  respect  my  wife 
too  much  to  suspect  her,  and  I  love  her  too  much  to 
annoy  her  in  advance  with  an  imaginary  trouble.  If 
this  trouble  should  come,  and  I  were  sure  of  it,  it 
would  be  time  enough  to  worry  myself  about  it.  Be- 
sides, it  would  be  an  affair  soon  settled." 

"What  affair?"  asked  Marillac,  slackening  his  pace 
in  order  to  join  in  the  conversation. 

"A  foolish  affair,  my  friend,  which  does  not  concern 
you,  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,  nor  myself  any  longer,  I 
hope ;  although  I  belong  to  the  class  exposed  to  dan- 
ger. We  were  speaking  of  conjugal  troubles." 

The  artist  threw  a  glance  at  his  friend  which  signi- 
fied: "What  the  deuce  made  you  take  it  into  your 
head  to  start  up  this  hare?" 

"There  are  many  things  to  be  said  on  this  subject," 
said  he,  in  a  sententious  tone,  thinking  that  his  inter- 
vention might  be  useful  in  getting  his  friend  out  of 
the  awkward  position  in  which  he  found  himself,  "an 
infinite  number  of  things  may  be  said;  books  without 
number  have  been  written  upon  this  subject.  Every 
one  has  his  own  system  and  plan  of  conduct  as  to  the 
way  of  looking  at  and  acting  upon  it." 

"And  what  would  be  yours,  you  consummate  vil- 
lain?" asked  Christian;  "would  you  be  as  cruel  a 
husband  as  you  are  an  immoral  bachelor?  That  usu- 
ally happens;  the  bolder  a  poacher  one  has  been,  the 
[244] 


GERFAUT 

more  intractable  a  gamekeeper  one  becomes.  What 
would  be  your  system?" 

"Hum!  hum!  you  are  mistaken,  Bergenheim;  my 
boyish  love  adventures  have  disposed  me  to  indulgence. 
Debilis  caro,  you  know!  Shakespeare  has  translated 
it,  'Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman!'" 

"I  am  a  little  rusty  in  my  Latin  and  I  never  knew 
a  word  of  English.  What  does  that  mean?" 

"Upon  my  word,  it  means,  if  I  were  married  and  my 
wife  deceived  me,  I  should  resign  myself  to  it  like  a 
gentleman,  considering  the  fragility  of  this  enchanting 
sex." 

"Mere  boy's  talk,  my  friend!    And  you,  Gerfaut?" 

"I  must  admit,"  replied  the  latter,  a  little  embar- 
rassed, "that  I  have  never  given  the  subject  very  much 
thought.  However,  I  believe  in  the  virtue  of  women." 

"That  is  all  very  well,  but  in  case  of  misfortune 
what  would  you  do?" 

"I  think  I  should  say  with  Lanoue:  'Sensation  is  for 
the  fop,  complaints  for  the  fool,  an  honest  man  who  is 
deceived  goes  away  and  says  nothing.'" 

"I  partly  agree  with  Lanoue;  only  I  should  make  a 
little  variation — instead  of  goes  away  should  say  avenges 
himself." 

Marillac  threw  at  his  friend  a  second  glance  full  of 
meaning. 

" Per  Bacco!"  said  he,  "are  you  a  Venetian  or  a 
Castilian  husband?" 

"Eh!"  replied  Bergenheim,  "I  suppose  that  without 
being  either,  I  should  kill  my  wife,  the  other  man,  and 
then  myself,  without  even  crying,  'Beware!'  Her*! 
[245] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Brichou!  pay  attention;  Tambeau  is  separated  from 
the  rest." 

As  he  said  these  words  the  Baron  leaped  over  a 
broad  ditch,  which  divided  the  road  from  the  clearing 
which  the  hunters  had  already  entered. 

"What  do  you  say  to  that?"  murmured  the  artist,  in 
a  rather  dramatic  tone,  in  his  friend's  ear. 

Instead  of  replying,  the  lover  made  a  gesture  which 
signified,  according  to  all  appearance:  "I  do  not 
care." 

The  clearing  they  must  cross  in  order  to  reach  the 
woods  formed  a  large,  square  field  upon  an  inclined 
plane  which  sloped  to  the  river  side.  Just  as  Marillac 
in  his  turn  was  jumping  the  ditch,  his  friend  saw,  at 
the  extremity  of  the  clearing,  Madame  de  Bergenheim 
walking  slowly  in  the  avenue  of  sycamores.  A  mo- 
ment later,  she  had  disappeared  behind  a  mass  of 
trees  without  the  other  men  noticing  her. 

"Take  care  that  you  do  not  slip,"  said  the  artist, 
"the  ground  is  wet." 

This  warning  brought  misfortune  to  Gerfaut,  who 
in  jumping  caught  his  foot  in  the  root  of  a  tree  and 
fell. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  asked  Bergenheim. 

Octave  arose  and  tried  to  walk,  but  was  obliged  to 
lean  upon  his  gun. 

"I  think  I  have  twisted  my  foot,"  said  he,  and  he 
carried  his  hand  to  it  as  if  he  felt  a  sharp  pain  there. 

"The  devil!  it  may  be  a  sprain,"  observed  the 
Baron,  coming  toward  them;  "sit  down.  Do  you 
think  you  will  be  able  to  walk?" 


GERFAUT 

"Yes,  but  I  fear  hunting  would  be  too  much  for  me; 
I  will  return  to  the  house." 

"Do  you  wish  us  to  make  a  litter  and  carry  you?" 

"You  are  laughing  at  me;  it's  not  so  bad  as  that.  I 
will  walk  back  slowly,  and  will  take  a  foot-bath  in  my 
room." 

"Lean  upon  me,  then,  and  I  will  help  you,"  said 
the  artist,  offering  his  arm. 

"Thanks;  I  do  not  need  you,"  Octave  replied;  "go 
to  the  devil!"  he  continued,  in  an  expressive  aside. 

"Capisco!  "  Marillac  replied,  in  the  same  tone,  giv- 
ing his  arm  an  expressive  pressure.  "Excuse  me," 
said  he  aloud,  "I  am  not  willing  that  you  should  go 
alone.  I  will  be  your  Antigone — 

Antigone  me  reste,  Antigone  est  ma  file. 

"Bergenheim,  I  will  take  charge  of  him.  Go  on  with 
your  hunting,  the  gentlemen  are  waiting  for  you.  We 
will  meet  again  at  supper;  around  the  table;  legs  are 
articles  of  luxury  and  sprains  a  delusion,  provided  that 
the  throat  and  stomach  are  properly  treated." 

The  Baron  looked  first  at  his  guests,  then  at  the 
group  that  had  just  reached  the  top  of  the  clearing. 
For  an  instant  Christian  charity  struggled  against  love 
of  hunting,  then  the  latter  triumphed.  As  he  saw  that 
Octave,  although  limping  slightly,  was  already  in  a 
condition  to  walk,  especially  with  the  aid  of  his  friend's 
arm,  he  said: 

"Do  not  forget  to  put  your  foot  in  water,  and  send 
for  Rousselet;  he  understands  all  about  sprains." 

This  advice  having  eased  his  conscience,  he  joined 
[247] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

his  companions,  while  the  two  friends  slowly  took  the 
road  back  to  the  chateau,  Octave  resting  one  hand 
upon  the  artist's  arm  and  the  other  upon  his  gun. 

"The  bourgeois  is  outwitted !"  said  Marillac  with  a 
stifled  laugh,  as  soon  as  he  was  sure  that  Bergenheim 
could  not  hear  him.  "Upon  my  word,  these  soldiers 
have  a  primitive,  baptismal  candor!  It  is  not  so  with 
us  artists;  they  could  not  bamboozle  us  in  this  way. 
Your  strain  is  an  old  story;  it  is  taken  from  the  Manage 
de  raison,  first  act,  second  scene." 

"You  will  do  me  the  favor  to  leave  me  as  soon  as  we 
reach  the  woods,"  said  Gerfaut,  as  he  continued  to 
limp  with  a  grace  which  would  have  made  Lord  By- 
ron envious;  "you  may  go  straight  ahead,  or  you  may 
turn  to  the  left,  as  you  choose;  the  right  is  forbidden 
you." 

"Very  well.  Hearts  are  trumps,  it  seems,  and,  for 
the  time  being,  you  agree  with  Sganarelle,  who  places 
the  heart  on  the  right  side." 

"Do  not  return  to  the  chateau,  as  it  is  understood 
that  we  are  together.  If  you  rejoin  the  hunting-party, 
say  to  Bergenheim  that  you  left  me  seated  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree  and  that  the  pain  in  my  foot  had  almost 
entirely  gone.  You  would  have  done  better  not  to  ac- 
company me,  as  I  tried  to  make  you  understand." 

"  I  had  reasons  of  my  own  for  wishing  to  get  out  of 
Christian's  crowd.  To-day  is  Monday,  and  I  have  an 
appointment  at  four  o'clock  which  interests  you  more 
than  me.  Now,  will  you  listen  to  a  little  advice?" 

"Listen,  yes;  follow  it,  not  so  sure." 

"O  race  of  lovers!"  exclaimed  the  artist,  in  a  sort  of 
[248] 


GERFAUT 

transport,  "foolish,  absurd,  wicked,  impious,  and  sacri- 
legious kind!" 

"What  of  it?" 

"  What  of  it  ?  I  tell  you  this  will  all  end  with  swords 
for  two." 

"Bah!" 

"Do  you  know  that  this  rabid  Bergenheim,  with  his 
round  face  and  good-natured  smile,  killed  three  or  four 
men  while  he  was  in  the  service,  on  account  of  a  game 
of  billiards  or  some  such  trivial  matter?" 

"Requiescat  in  pace.'" 

"Take  care  that  he  does  not  cause  the  De  Profundis 
to  be  sung  for  you.  He  was  called  the  best  swords- 
man at  Saint- Cyr:  he  has  the  devil  of  a  lunge.  As  to 
pistol-shooting,  I  have  seen  him  break  nine  plaster 
images  at  Lepage's  one  after  another." 

"Very  well,  if  I  have  an  engagement  with  him,  we 
will  fight  it  out  with  arsenic." 

"By  Jove,  joking  is  out  of  place.  I  tell  you  that 
he  is  sure  to  discover  something,  and  then  your  busi- 
ness will  soon  be  settled ;  he  will  kill  you  as  if  you  were 
one  of  the  hares  he  is  hunting  this  moment." 

"You  might  find  a  less  humiliating  comparison  for 
me,"  replied  Gerfaut,  with  an  indifferent  smile;  "how- 
ever, you  exaggerate.  I  have  always  noticed  that  these 
bullies  with  mysterious  threats  of  their  own  and  these 
slaughterers  of  plaster  images  were  not  such  very  dan- 
gerous fellows  to  meet.  This  is  not  disputing  Bergen- 
heim's  bravery,  for  I  believe  it  to  be  solid  and  genuine." 

"I  tell  you,  he  is  a  regular  lion!  After  all,  you  will 
admit  that  it  is  sheer  folly  to  come  and  attack  him  in 
[249] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

his  cage  and  pull  his  whiskers  through  the  bars.  And 
that  is  what  you  are  doing.  To  be  in  love  with  his 
wife  and  pay  court  to  her  in  Paris,  when  he  is  a  hun- 
dred leagues  from  you,  is  all  very  well,  but  to  install 
yourself  in  his  house,  within  reach  of  his  clutches! 
that  is  not  love,  it  is  sheer  madness.  This  is  nothing 
to  laugh  at.  I  am  sure  that  this  will  end  in  some 
horrible  tragedy.  You  heard  him  speak  of  killing  his 
wife  and  her  lover  just  now,  as  if  it  were  a  very  slight 
matter.  Very  well;  I  know  him;  he  will  do  as  he 
says  without  flinching.  These  ruddy-faced  people  are 
very  devils,  if  you  .meddle  with  their  family  affairs! 
He  is  capable  of  murdering  you  in  some  corner  of  his 
park,  and  of  burying  you  at  the  foot  of  some  tree  and 
then  of  forcing  Madame  de  Bergenheim  to  eat  your 
heart  fricasseed  in  champagne,  as  they  say  Raoul  de 
Coucy  did." 

"You  will  admit,  at  least,  that  it  would  be  a  very 
charming  repast,  and  that  there  would  be  nothing  bour- 
geois about  it." 

"Certainly,  I  boast  of  detesting  the  bourgeois;  I  am 
celebrated  for  that;  but  I  should  much  prefer  to  die 
in  a  worsted  nightcap,  flannel  underwear,  and  cotton 
night-shirt,  than  to  have  Bergenheim  assist  me,  too 
brusquely,  in  this  little  operation.  He  is  such  an  out- 
and-out  Goliath!  Just  look  at  him!" 

And  the  artist  forced  his  friend  to  turn  about,  and 
pointed  at  Christian,  who  stood  with  the  other  hunters 
upon  the  brow  of  the  hill,  a  few  steps  from  the  spot 
where  they  had  left  him.  The  Baron  was  indeed  a 
worthy  representative  of  the  feudal  ages,  when  physical 
[250] 


GERFAUT 

strength  was  the  only  incontestable  superiority.  In 
spite  of  the  distance,  they  could  hear  his  clear,  ringing 
voice  although  they  could  not  distinguish  his  words. 

"He  really  has  a  look  of  the  times  of  the  Round 
Table,"  said  Gerfaut;  "five  or  six  hundred  years  ago 
it  would  not  have  been  very  agreeable  to  find  one's 
self  face  to  face  with  him  in  a  tournament;  and  if 
to-day,  as  in  those  times,  feminine  hearts  were  won 
by  feats  with  double-edged  swords,  I  admit  that  my 
chances  would  not  be  very  good.  Fortunately,  we  are 
emancipated  from  animal  vigor;  it  is  out  of  fashion." 

"Out  of  fashion,  if  you  like;  meanwhile,  he  will  kill 
you." 

"You -do  not  understand  the  charms  of  danger  nor 
the  attractions  that  difficulties  give  to  pleasure.  I  have 
studied  Christian  thoroughly  since  I  have  been  here, 
and  I  know  him  as  well  as  if  I  had  passed  my  life  with 
him.  I  am  also  sure  that,  at  the  very  first  revelation, 
he  will  kill  me  if  he  can,  and  I  take  a  strange  interest 
in  knowing  that  I  risk  my  life  thus.  Here  we  are  in 
the  woods,"  said  Gerfaut,  as  he  dropped  the  artist's 
arm  and  ceased  limping;  "they  can  no  longer  see  us; 
the  farce  is  played  out.  You  know  what  I  told  you  to 
say  if  you  join  them:  you  left  me  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 
You  are  forbidden  to  approach  the  sycamores,  under 
penalty  of  receiving  the  shot  from  my  gun  in  your 
moustache." 

At  these  words  he  threw  the  gun  which  had  served 
him  as  crutch  over  his  shoulder,  and  darted  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  river. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ESPIONAGE 

the  extremity  of  the  sycamore  walk, 
the  shore  formed  a  bluff  like  the  one 
upon  which  the  chateau  was  built, 
but  much  more  abrupt,  and  partly 
wooded.  In  order  to  avoid  this 
stretch,  which  was  not  passable  for 
carriages,  the  road  leading  into  the 
principal  part  of  the  valley  turned  to 
the  right,  and  reached  by  an  easier  ascent  a  more  level 
plateau.  There  was  only  one  narrow  path  by  the  river, 
which  was  shaded  by  branches  of  beeches  and  willows 
that  hung  over  this  bank  into  the  river.  After  walking 
a  short  distance  through  this  shady  path,  one  found 
himself  before  a  huge  triangular  rock  covered  with 
moss,  which  nature  had  rolled  from  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain as  if  to  close  up  the  passage. 

This  obstacle  was  not  insurmountable;  but  in  order 
to  cross  it,  one  must  have  a  sure  foot  and  steady  head, 
for  the  least  false  step  would  precipitate  the  unlucky 
one  into  the  river,  which  was  rapid  as  well  as  deep. 
From  the  rock,  one  could  reach  the  top  of  the  cliff 
by  means  of  some  natural  stone  steps,  and  then,  de- 
scending on  the  other  side,  could  resume  the  path  by 
the  river,  which  had  been  momentarily  interrupted.  In 
[252] 


GERFAUT 

this  case,  one  would  reach,  in  about  sixty  steps,  a  place 
where  the  river  grew  broader  and  the  banks  projected, 
forming  here  and  there  little  islands  of  sand  covered 
with  bushes.  Here  was  a  ford  well  known  to  shep- 
herds and  to  all  persons  who  wished  to  avoid  going  as 
far  as  the  castle  bridge. 

Near  the  mossy  rock  of  which  we  have  spoken  as 
being  close  to  the  sycamore  walk,  at  the  foot  of  a  wall 
against  which  it  flowed,  forming  a  rather  deep  excava- 
tion, the  current  had  found  a  vein  of  soft,  brittle  stone 
which,  by  its  incessant  force,  it  had  ended  in  wearing 
away.  It  was  a  natural  grotto  formed  by  water,  but 
which  earth,  in  its  turn,  had  undertaken  to  embellish. 
An  enormous  willow  had  taken  root  in  a  few  inches  of 
soil  in  a  fissure  of  the  rock,  and  its  drooping  branches 
fell  into  the  stream,  which  drifted  them  along  without 
being  able  to  detach  them. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  was  seated  at  the  front  of 
this  grotto,  upon  a  seat  formed  by  the  base  of  the  rock. 
She  was  tracing  in  the  sand,  with  a  stick  which  she  had 
picked  up  on  the  way,  strange  figures  which  she  care- 
fully erased  with  her  foot.  Doubtless  these  hiero- 
glyphics had  some  meaning  to  her,  and  perhaps  she 
feared  lest  the  slightest  marks  might  be  carelessly  for- 
gotten, as  they  would  betray  the  secret  they  concealed. 
Clemence  was  plunged  into  one  of  those  ecstatic  reveries 
which  abolish  time  and  distance.  The  fibres  of  her 
heart,  whose  exquisite  vibrating  had  been  so  suddenly 
paralyzed  by  Christian's  arrival,  had  resumed  their 
passionate  thrills.  She  lived  over  again  in  her  mind 
the  tite-a-tete  in  the  drawing-room;  she  could  hear  the 
[253] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

entrancing  waltz  again;  she  felt  her  lover's  breath  in 
her  hair;  her  hand  trembled  again  under  the  pressure 
of  his  kiss.  When  she  awoke  from  this  dream  it  was 
a  reality;  for  Octave  was  seated  by  her  side  without 
her  having  seen  him  arrive,  and  he  had  taken  up  the 
scene  at  the  piano  just  where  it  had  been  interrupted. 

She  was  not  afraid.  Her  mind  had  reached  that 
state  of  exaltation  which  renders  imperceptible  the 
transition  from  dreaming  to  reality.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  Octave  had  always  been  there,  that  it  was  his 
place,  and  for  a  moment  she  no  longer  thought,  but 
remained  motionless  in  the  arms  which  embraced  her. 
But  soon  her  reason  came  back  to  her.  She  arose 
trembling,  and  drew  away  a  few  steps,  standing  be- 
fore her  lover  with  lowered  head  and  face  suffused 
with  blushes. 

"Why  are  you  afraid  of  me?  Do  you  not  think  me 
worthy  of  your  love?"  he  asked,  in  an  altered  voice, 
and,  without  trying  to  retain  or  approach  her,  he  fell 
upon  his  knees  with  a  movement  of  sweet,  sad  grace. 

He  had  analyzed  Madame  de  Bergenheim's  char- 
acter well  enough  to  perceive  the  least  variation  in  her 
capricious  nature.  By  the  young  woman's  frightened 
attitude,  her  burning  cheeks  and  the  flashes  which  he 
saw  from  her  eyes  through  her  long,  drooping  lashes, 
he  saw  that  a  reaction  had  taken  place,  and  he  feared 
the  next  outburst;  for  he  knew  that  women,  when 
overcome  with  remorse,  always  smite  their  lover  by 
way  of  expiation  for  themselves. 

"If  I  let  this  recovered  virtue  have  the  mastery,  I 
am  a  lost  man  for  a  fortnight  at  least,"  he  thought. 
[254] 


GERFAUT 

He  quickly  abandoned  the  dangerous  ground  upon 
which  he  had  taken  position,  and  passed,  by  an  adroit 
transition,  from  the  most  passionate  frenzy  to  the  most 
submissive  bearing.  When  Clemence  raised  her  large 
eyes,  in  which  was  a  threatening  gleam,  she  saw,  in- 
stead of  an  audacious  man  to  be  punished,  an  implor- 
ing slave. 

There  was  something  so  flattering  in  this  attitude 
of  humility  that  she  was  completely  disarmed.  She 
approached  Octave,  and  took  him  by  the  hand  to 
raise  him,  seated  herself  again  and  allowed  him  to 
resume  his  position  beside  her.  She  softly  pressed  his 
hand,  of  which  she  had  not  let  go,  and,  looking  her 
lover  in  the  eyes,  said  in  that  deep,  penetrating  voice 
that  women  sometimes  have: 

"My  friend!" 

" Friend!"  he  thought;  "yes,  certainly.  I  will  raise 
no  dispute  as  to  the  word,  provided  the  fact  is  recog- 
nized. What  matters  the  color  of  the  flag?  Only  fools 
trouble  themselves  about  that.  'Friend'  is  not  the 
throne  I  aspire  to,  but  it  is  the  road  that  leads  to  it. 
So  then,  let  it  be  'friend,'  while  waiting  for  better. 
This  word  is  very  pleasant  to  hear  when  spoken  in 
these  siren's  accents,  and  when  at  the  same  time  the 
eyes  say  'lover!'" 

"Will  you  always  love  me  thus?"  Octave  asked, 
whose  face  beamed  with  virtuous  pledges. 

"Always!"  sighed  Clemence,  without  lowering  her 
eyes  under  the  burning  glance  which  met  hers. 

"You  will  be  the  soul  of  my  soul;  the  angel  of  my 
heaven?" 

[255] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Your  sister,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet  smile,  as  she 
caressed  her  lover's  cheek  with  her  hand. 

He  felt  the  blood  mount  to  his  face  at  this  caress, 
and  turned  his  eyes  away  with  a  dreamy  air. 

"I  probably  am  one  of  the  greatest  fools  that  has 
ever  existed  since  the  days  of  Joseph  and  Hippolytus," 
thought  he. 

He  remained  silent  and  apparently  indifferent  for 
several  moments. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  asked  Madame  de 
Bergenheim,  surprised  by  Octave's  silence  and  rather 
listless  air. 

He  gave  a  start  of  surprise  at  this  question. 

"May  I  die  if  I  tell  her!"  he  thought;  "she  must 
think  me  ridiculous  enough  as  it  is." 

"Tell  me,  I  wish  you  to  speak  out,"  she  continued, 
in  that  despotic  tone  which  a  woman  assumes  when 
sure  of  her  empire. 

Instead  of  replying,  as  she  demanded,  he  gave  her  a 
long,  questioning  glance,  and  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible at  that  moment  for  her  to  keep  a  single  secret 
from  her  lover.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  felt  the  mag- 
netic influence  of  his  penetrating  glance  so  deeply  that 
it  seemed  to  her  these  sharp  eyes  were  fathoming  her 
very  heart.  She  felt  intensely  disturbed  to  be  gazed  at 
in  that  way,  and,  in  order  to  free  herself  from  this  mute 
questioning,  she  leaned  her  head  upon  Octave's  shoul- 
der, as  she  said  softly: 

"Do  not  look  at  me  like  that  or  I  shall  not  love  your 
eyes  any  more." 

Her  straw  hat,  whose  ribbons  were  not  tied,  slipped 
[256] 


GERFAUT 

and  fell,  dragging  with  it  the  comb  which  confined  her 
beautiful  hair,  and  it  fell  in  disorder  over  her  shoul- 
ders. Gerfaut  passed  his  hand  behind  the  charming 
head  which  rested  upon  his  breast,  in  order  to  carry 
this  silky,  perfumed  fleece  to  his  lips.  At  the  same 
time,  he  gently  pressed  the  supple  form  which,  as  it 
bent  toward  him,  seemed  to  ask  for  this  caress. 

Clemence  made  a  sudden  effort  and  arose,  fastening 
her  hair  at  the  back  of  her  head  with  an  almost  shamed 
haste. 

"Will  you  refuse  me  one  lock  of  your  hair  as  a 
souvenir  of  this  hour?"  said  Octave,  stopping  her 
gently  as  she  was  about  to  replace  her  comb. 

"Do  you  need  any  souvenir?"  she  replied,  giving 
him  a  glance  which  was  neither  a  reproach  nor  a  re- 
fusal. 

"The  souvenir  is  in  my  heart,  the  hair  will  never 
leave  my  bosom!  We  live  in  an  unworthy  age.  I 
can  not  boast  of  wearing  your  colors  in  everybody's 
eyes,  and  yet  I  should  like  to  wear  a  sign  of  my  bond- 
age." 

She  let  her  hair  fall  down  her  back  again,  but  seemed 
embarrassed  as  to  how  to  execute  his  wish. 

"I  can  not  cut  my  hair  with  my  teeth,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile  which  betrayed  a  double  row  of  pearls. 

Octave  took  a  stiletto  from  his  pocket. 

"Why  do  you  always  carry  this  stiletto?"  asked  the 
young  woman,  in  a  changed  voice;  "it  frightens  me 
to  see  you  armed  thus." 

"Fear  nothing,"  said  Gerfaut,  who  did  not  reply  to 
her  question,  "I  will  respect  the  hair  which  serves  you 
J7  [257] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

as  a  crown.  I  know  where  I  must  cut  it,  and,  if  my 
ambition  is  great,  my  hand  shall  be  discreet." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  no  confidence  in  his 
moderation,  and,  fearing  to  leave  her  beautiful  hair  to 
her  lover's  mercy,  she  took  the  stiletto  and  cut  off  a 
little  lock  which  she  drew  through  her  fingers  and 
then  offered  to  him,  with  a  loving  gesture  that  doubled 
the  value  of  the  gift.  At  this  moment,  hunting-horns 
resounded  in  the  distance. 

"I  must  leave  you  now!"  exclaimed  Clemence,  "I 
must.  My  dear  love,  let  me  go  now;  say  good-by 
to  me." 

She  leaned  toward  him  and  presented  her  forehead 
to  receive  this  adieu.  It  was  her  lips  which  met  Oc- 
tave's, but  this  kiss  was  rapid  and  fleeting  as  a  flash  of 
light.  Withdrawing  from  the  arms  which  would  yet 
retain  her,  she  darted  out  of  the  grotto,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment had  disappeared  in  one  of  the  shady  paths. 

For  some  time,  plunged  in  deep  reflection,  Gerfaut 
stood  on  the  same  spot;  but  at  last  arousing  himself 
from  this  dreamy  languor,  he  climbed  the  rock  so  as 
to  reach  the  top  of  the  cliff.  After  taking  a  few  steps 
he  stopped  with  a  frightened  look,  as  if  he  had  espied 
some  venomous  reptile  in  his  path.  He  could  see, 
through  the  bushes  which  bordered  the  crest  of  the 
plateau  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  cut  in  the  rock,  Ber- 
genheim, motionless,  and  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  who 
is  trying  to  conceal  himself  in  order  that  he  may  watch 
somebody.  The  Baron's  eyes  not  being  turned  in  Ger- 
faut's  direction,  he  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  the 
object  of  this  episonage,  or  whether  the  lay  of  the 
[258] 


GERFAUT 

land  allowed  him  to  see  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  who 
must  be  under  the  sycamores  by  this  time.  Uncer- 
tain as  to  what  he  should  do,  he  remained  motionless, 
half  crouched  down  upon  the  rock,  behind  the  ledge  of 
which,  thanks  to  his  position,  he  could  hide  from  the 
Barcn. 


[259] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  REVELATION 

FEW  moments  before  the  castle  clock 
struck  four,  a  man  leaped  across  the 
ditch  which  served  as  enclosure  to 
the  park.  Lambernier,  for  it  was  he 
who  showed  himself  so  prompt  at 
keeping  his  promise,  directed  his 
steps  through  the  thickets  toward  the 
corner  of  the  Come  woods  which  he 
had  designated  to  Marillac;  but,  after  walking  for 
some  time,  he  was  forced  to  slacken  his  steps.  The 
hunting-party  were  coming  in  his  direction,  and  Lam- 
bernier knew  that  to  continue  in  the  path  he  had  first 
chosen  would  take  him  directly  among  the  hunters; 
and,  in  spite  of  his  insolence,  he  feared  the  Baron  too 
much  to  wish  to  expose  himself  to  the  danger  of  an- 
other chastisement.  He  therefore  retraced  his  steps 
and  took  a  roundabout  way  through  the  thickets, 
whose  paths  were  all  familiar  to  him;  he  descended 
to  the  banks  of  the  river  ready  to  ascend  to  the  place 
appointed  for  the  rendezvous  as  soon  as  the  hunting 
party  had  passed. 

He  had  hardly  reached  the  plateau  covered  with 
trees,  which  extended  above  the  rocks,  when,  as  he 
entered  a  clearing  which  had  been  recently  made,  he 
[260] 


GERFAUT 

saw  two  men  coming  toward  him  who  were  walking 
very  fast,  and  whom  to  meet  in  this  place  caused  him  a 
very  disagreeable  sensation.  The  first  man  was  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil's  coachman,  as  large  a  fellow 
as  ever  crushed  the  seats  of  landau  or  brougham  with 
his  rotundity.  He  was  advancing  with  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  green  jacket  and  his  broad  shoulders 
thrown  back,  as  if  he  had  taken  it  upon  himself  to 
replace  Atlas.  His  cap,  placed  in  military  fashion 
upon  his  head,  his  scowling  brows,  and  his  bombastic 
air,  announced  that  he  was  upon  the  point  of  accom- 
plishing some  important  deed  which  greatly  interested 
him.  Leonard  Rousselet,  walking  by  his  side,  moved 
his  spider  legs  with  equal  activity,  carefully  holding 
up  the  skirts  of  his  long  coat  as  if  they  were  petticoats. 

Lambernier,  at  sight  of  them,  turned  to  enter  the 
woods  again,  but  he  was  stopped  in  his  retreat  by  a 
threatening  shout. 

"Stop,  you  vagabond!"  exclaimed  the  coachman; 
"halt!  If  you  take  a  trot,  I  shall  take  a  gallop." 

"What  do  you  want ?  I  have  no  business  with  you," 
replied  the  workman,  in  a  surly  tone. 

"But  I  have  business  with  you,"  replied  the  big 
domestic,  placing  himself  in  front  of  him  and  balanc- 
ing himself  first  on  his  toes  then  on  his  heels,  with  a 
motion  like  the  wooden  rocking-horses  children  play 
with.  "Come  here,  Rousselet;  are  you  wheezy  or 
foundered?" 

"I  have  not  as  good  legs  as  your  horses,"  replied 
the  old  man,  who  reached  them  at  last,  breathless, 
and  took  off  his  hat  to  wipe  his  forehead. 
[261] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"What  does  this  mean,  jumping  out  upon  one  from 
a  corner  in  the  woods  like  two  assassins?"  asked  Lam- 
bernier,  foreseeing  that  this  beginning  might  lead  to 
some  scene  in  which  he  was  threatened  to  be  forced  to 
play  a  not  very  agreeable  role. 

"It  means,"  said  the  coachman:  "first,  that  Rous- 
selet  has  nothing  to  do  with  it;  I  do  not  need  any- 
body's help  to  punish  an  insignificant  fellow  like  you; 
second,  that  you  are  going  to  receive  your  quietus  in 
a  trice." 

At  these  words  he  pushed  his  cap  down  over  his 
ears  and  rolled  up  his  sleeves,  in  order  to  give  freer 
action  to  his  large,  broad  hands. 

The  three  men  were  standing  upon  a  plot  of  ground 
where  charcoal  had  been  burned  the  year  before.  The 
ground  was  black'  and  slippery,  but  being  rather  level, 
it  was  a  very  favorable  place  for  a  duel  with  fists  or 
any  other  weapons.  When  Lambernier  saw  the  lack- 
ey's warlike  preparations,  he  placed  his  cap  and  coat 
upon  an  old  stump  and  stationed  himself  in  front  of 
his  adversary.  But,  before  the  hostilities  had  begun, 
Rousselet  advanced,  stretching  his  long  arms  out  be- 
tween them,  and  said,  in  a  voice  whose  solemnity 
seemed  to  be  increased  by  the  gravity  of  the  occa- 
sion: 

"I  do  not  suppose  that  you  both  wish  to  kill  each 
other;  only  uneducated  people  conduct  themselves  in 
this  vulgar  manner;  you  ought  to  have  a  friendly  ex- 
planation, and  see  if  the  matter  is  not  susceptible  of 
arrangement.  That  was  the  way  such  things  were 
done  when  I  was  in  the  twenty-fifth  demi-brigade." 
[262] 


GERFAUT 

"The  explanation  is,"  said  the  coachman,  in  his 
gruff  voice,  "that  here  is  a  low  fellow  who  takes  every 
opportunity  to  undervalue  me  and  my  horses,  and  I 
have  sworn  to  give  him  a  good  drubbing  the  first  time 
I  could  lay  my  hands  upon  him.  So,  Pere  Rousselet, 
step  aside.  He  will  see  if  I  am  a  pickle;  he  will  find 
out  that  the  pickle  is  peppery!" 

"If  you  made  use  of  such  a  vulgar  expression  as 
that,"  observed  Rousselet,  turning  to  Lambernier,  "you 
were  at  fault,  and  should  beg  his  pardon  as  is  the 
custom  among  educated  people." 

"It  is  false!"  exclaimed  Lambernier;  "and  besides, 
everybody  calls  the  Corandeuils  that,  on  account  of  the 
color  of  their  livery." 

"Did  you  not  say  Sunday,  at  the  Femme-sans-Tete, 
and  in  the  presence  of  Thiedot,  that  all  the  servants 
of  the  chateau  were  idlers  and  good-for-nothings,  and 
that  if  you  met  one  of  them  who  tried  to  annoy  you, 
you  would  level  him  with  your  plane?" 

"If  you  used  the  word  ' level,'  it  was  very  uncivil," 
observed  Rousselet. 

"Thiedot  had  better  keep  in  his  own  house,"  growled 
the  carpenter,  clenching  his  fists. 

"It  looks  well  for  a  tramp  like  you  to  insult  gentle- 
men like  us,"  continued  the  lackey,  in  an  imposing 
tone.  "And  did  you  not  say  that  when  I  took  Made- 
moiselle to  mass  I  looked  like  a  green  toad  upon  the 
box,  thus  trying  to  dishonor  my  physique  and  my 
clothes?  Did  you  not  say  that?" 

"Only  a  joke  about  the  color  of  your  livery.    They 
call  the  others  measles  and  lobsters." 
[263] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Lobsters  are  lobsters,"  replied  the  coachman,  in  an 
imperative  tone,  "if  that  vexes  them,  they  can  take 
care  of  themselves.  But  I  will  not  allow  any  one  to 
attack  my  honor  or  that  of  my  beasts  by  calling  them 
screws — and  that  is  what  you  did,  you  vagabond! 
And  did  you  not  say  that  I  sent  bags  of  oats  to  Re- 
miremont  to  be  sold,  and  that,  for  a  month,  my  team 
had  steadily  been  getting  thin?  Did  you  ever  hear 
anything  so  scandalous,  Pere  Rousselet?  to  dare  to 
say  that  I  endanger  the  lives  of  my  horses?  Did  you 
not  say  that,  you  rascal?  And  did  you  not  say  that 
Mademoiselle  Marianne  and  I  had  little  private  feasts 
in  her  room,  and  that  was  why  I  could  not  eat  more  at 
the  table?  Here  is  Rousselet,  who  has  been  a  doctor 
and  knows  that  I  am  on  a  diet  on  account  of  my  weak 
stomach."  At  these  words,  the  servant,  carried  away 
by  his  anger,  gave  his  stomach  a  blow  with  his  fist. 

"Lambernier,"  said  Rousselet,  turning  up  his  lips 
with  a  look  of  contempt,  "I  must  admit  that,  for  a 
man  well  brought  up,  you  have  made  most  disgusting 
remarks." 

"To  say  that  I  eat  the  horses'  oats!"  roared  the 
coachman. 

"I  ought  to  have  said  that  you  drank  them,"  replied 
Lambernier,  with  his  usual  sneer. 

"Rousselet,  out  of  the  way!"  exclaimed  the  burly 
lackey  at  this  new  insult;  the  old  peasant  not  moving 
as  quickly  as  he  desired,  he  seized  him  by  the  arm 
and  sent  him  whirling  ten  steps  away. 

At  this  moment,  a  new  person  completed  the  scene, 
joining  in  it,  if  not  as  actor  at  least  as  interested  spec- 
[264] 


GERFAUT 

tator.  If  the  two  champions  had  suspected  his  pres- 
ence they  would  have  probably  postponed  their  fight 
until  a  more  opportune  moment,  for  this  spectator  was 
no  other  than  the  Baron  himself.  As  he  saw  from  a 
distance  the  trio  gesticulating  in  a  very  animated  man- 
ner, he  judged  that  a  disorderly  scene  was  in  prepara- 
tion, and  as  he  had  wished  for  a  long  time  to  put  an 
end  to  the  quarrelsome  ways  of  the  chateau  servants, 
he  was  not  sorry  to  catch  them  in  the  very  act,  so  as 
to  make  an  example  of  them.  At  first,  he  stooped  and 
concealed  himself  in  the  thickets,  ready  to  appear  for 
the  denouement. 

As  Lambernier  saw  the  giant's  fist  coming  down  up- 
on him,  he  darted  to  one  side  and  the  blow  only  struck 
the  air,  making  the  coachman  stumble  from  the  force 
of  his  impetuosity.  Lambernier  profited  by  this  posi- 
tion to  gather  all  his  strength,  and  threw  himself  upon 
his  adversary,  whom  he  seized  by  the  flank  and  gave 
such  a  severe  blow  as  to  bring  him  down  upon  his 
knees.  He  then  gave  him  a  dozen  more  blows  upon 
the  head,  and  succeeded  in  overthrowing  him  com- 
pletely. 

If  the  coachman  had  not  had  a  cranium  as  hard  as 
iron,  he  probably  could  not  have  received  such  a  storm 
of  fisticuffs  without  giving  up  the  ghost.  Fortunately 
for  him,  he  had  one  of  those  excellent  Breton  heads 
that  break  the  sticks  which  beat  them.  Save  for  a 
certain  giddiness,  he  came  out  of  the  scramble  safe  and 
sound.  Far  from  losing  his  presence  of  mind  by  the 
disadvantageous  position  in  which  he  found  himself, 
he  supported  himself  upon  the  ground  with  his  left 
[265] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

hand,  and,  passing  his  other  arm  behind  him,  he  wound 
it  around  the  workman's  legs,  who  thus  found  himself 
reaped  down,  so  to  speak,  and  a  moment  later  was  ly- 
ing on  his  back  in  front  of  his  adversary.  The  latter, 
holding  him  fast  with  his  strong  hands,  placed  a  knee, 
as  large  as  a  plate,  upon  his  chest  and  then  pulled  off 
the  cap  that  his  enemy  had  pushed  down  over  his  eyes, 
and  proceeded  to  administer  full  justice  to  him. 

"Ah!  you  thought  you'd  attack  me  treacherously, 
did  you?"  said  he,  with  a  derisive  chuckle  as  if  to 
slacken  the  speed  of  his  horses.  "You  know  short 
reckonings  make  good  friends.  Oh!  what  a  fine 
thrashing  you  are  going  to  receive,  my  friend!  Take 
care!  if  you  try  to  bite  my  hand,  I'll  choke  you  with 
my  two  fingers,  do  you  hear!  Now,  then,  take  this 
for  the  green  toad ;  this,  for  my  horses'  sake ;  this,  for 
Mademoiselle  Marianne!" 

He  followed  each  "this"  with  a  heavy  blow  from  his 
fist.  At  the  third  blow  the  blood  poured  out  of  the 
mouth  of  the  carpenter,  who  writhed  under  the  pres- 
sure of  his  adversary's  knee  like  a  buffalo  stifled  by  a 
boa-constrictor;  he  succeeded  at  last  in  freeing  one 
hand,  which  he  thrust  into  his  trousers'  pocket. 

"Ah!  you  rascal!  I  am  killed!"  howled  the  coach- 
man, giving  a  bound  backward.  Lambernier,  profit- 
ing by  his  freedom,  jumped  upon  his  feet,  and,  with- 
out troubling  himself  as  to  his  adversary,  who  had 
fallen  on  his  knees  and  was  pressing  his  hand  to  his 
left  thigh,  he  picked  up  his  cap  and  vest  and  started 
off  through  the  clearing.  Rousselet,  who  until  then 
had  prudently  kept  aside,  tried  to  stop  the  workman, 
[266] 


GERFAUT 

at  a  cry  from  his  companion,  but  the  scoundrel  bran- 
dished his  iron  compass  before  his  eyes  with  such  an 
ugly  look  that  the  peasant  promptly  left  the  way  open 
for  him. 

At  this  tragic  and  unexpected  denouement,  Bergen- 
heim,  who  was  getting  ready  to  make  his  appearance 
from  behind  the  trees  and  to  interpose  his  authority, 
started  in  full  pursuit  of  the  would-be  murderer. 
From  the  direction  he  took,  he  judged  that  he  would 
try  to  reach  the  river  by  passing  over  the  rock.  He 
walked  in  this  direction,  with  his  gun  over  his  shoulder, 
until  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps  which  descended 
into  the  grotto.  Christian  crouched  behind  some 
bushes  to  wait  for  Lambernier,  who  must  pass  this 
way,  and  it  was  at  this  moment  that  Gerfaut,  who  was 
forty  feet  below  him,  saw  him  without  suspecting  the 
reason  for  his  attitude. 

Bergenheim  soon  found  out  that  he  had  calculated 
correctly  when  he  heard  a  sound  like  that  made  by  a 
wild  boar  when  he  rushes  through  the  thickets  and 
breaks  the  small  branches  in  his  path,  as  if  they  were 
no  more  than  blades  of  grass.  Soon  Lambernier  ap- 
peared with  a  haggard,  wild  look  and  a  face  bleeding 
from  the  blows  he  had  received.  He  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  catch  his  breath  and  to  wipe  off  his  com- 
pass with  a  handful  of  grass;  he  then  staunched  the 
blood  streaming  from  his  nose  and  mouth,  and  after 
putting  on  his  coat  started  rapidly  in  the  direction  of 
the  river. 

"Halt!"  exclaimed  the  Baron,  suddenly,  rising  be- 
fore him  and  barring  his  passage. 
[267] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

The  workman  jumped  back  in  terror;  then  he  drew 
out  his  compass  a  second  time  and  made  a  movement 
as  if  to  throw  himself  upon  this  new  adversary,  out  of 
sheer  desperation.  Christian,  at  this  threatening  panto- 
mime, raised  his  gun  to  his  cheek  with  as  much  cool- 
ness and  precision  as  he  would  have  shown  at  firing 
into  a  body  of  soldiers. 

"Down  with  your  weapon!"  he  exclaimed,  in  his 
commanding  voice,  "or  I  will  shoot  you  down  like  a 
rabbit." 

The  carpenter  uttered  a  hoarse  cry  as  he  saw  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun  within  an  inch  of  his  head,  ready 
to  blow  his  brains  out.  Feeling  assured  that  there 
was  no  escape  for  him,  he  closed  his  compass  and 
threw  it  with  an  angry  gesture  at  the  Baron's  feet. 

"Now,"  said  the  latter,  "you  will  walk  straight 
ahead  of  me  as  far  as  the  chateau,  and  if  you  turn  one 
step  to  the  right  or  left,  I  will  send  the  contents  of  my 
gun  into  you.  So  right  about  march!" 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  stooped,  without  losing 
sight  of  the  workman,  and  picked  up  the  compass, 
which  he  put  in  his  pocket. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron,  it  was  the  coachman  who  at- 
tacked me  first;  I  had  to  defend  myself,"  stammered 
Lambernier. 

"  All  right,  we  will  see  about  that  later.    March  on ! " 

"You  will  deliver  me  up  to  the  police — I  am  a 
ruined  man!" 

"That  will  make  one  rascal  the  less,"  exclaimed 
Christian,  repelling  with  disgust  the  workman,  who 
had  thrown  himself  on  his  knees  before  him. 
[268] 


GERFAUT 

"I  have  three  children,  Monsieur,  three  children/' 
he  repeated,  in  a  supplicating  tone. 

"Will  you  march!"  replied  Bergenheim  imperi- 
ously, as  he  made  a  gesture  with  his  gun  as  if  to 
shoot  him. 

Lambernier  arose  suddenly,  and  the  expression  of 
terror  upon  his  countenance  gave  place  to  one  of  reso- 
lution mingled  with  hatred  and  scorn. 

"Very  well,"  he  exclaimed,  "let  us  go  on!  but  re- 
member what  I  tell  you;  if  you  have  me  arrested,  you 
will  be  the  first  to  repent  of  it,  Baron  though  you  are. 
If  I  appear  before  a  judge,  I  will  tell  something  that 
you  would  pay  a  good  price  for." 

Bergenheim  looked  fixedly  at  Lambernier. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  such  insolence?"  said  he. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean,  if  you  will  promise  to 
let  me  go;  if  you  give  me  into  the  hands  of  the  police, 
I  repeat  it,  you  will  repent  not  having  listened  to  me 
to-day." 

"This  is  some  idle  yarn,  made  to  gain  time;  no 
matter,  speak;  I  will  listen." 

The  workman  darted  a  defiant  glance  at  Christian. 

"Give  me  your  word  of  honor  to  let  me  go  after- 
ward." 

"If  I  do  not  do  so,  are  you  not  at  liberty  to  repeat 
your  story?"  replied  the  Baron,  who,  in  spite  of  his 
curiosity,  would  not  give  his  word  to  a  scoundrel  whose 
only  aim  probably  was  to  escape  justice. 

This  observation  impressed  Lambernier,  who,  after 
a  moment's  reflection,  assumed  a  strange  attitude  of 
cool  assurance,  considering  the  position  in  which  he 
[269] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

found  himself.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard;  even 
the  barking  of  the  dogs  in  the  distance  had  ceased. 
The  deepest  silence  surrounded  them;  even  Gerfaut, 
in  the  place  where  he  was  concealed,  could  no  longer 
see  them,  now  that  Bergenheim  had  left  the  edge  of 
the  cliff;  from  time  to  time  their  voices  reached  him, 
but  he  could  not  distinguish  the  meaning  of  their 
words. 

Leaning  with  one  hand  upon  his  gun,  Christian 
waited  for  the  carpenter  to  begin  his  story,  gazing  at 
him  with  his  clear,  piercing  eyes.  Lambernier  bore 
this  glance  without  flinching,  returning  it  in  his  inso- 
lent way. 

"You  know,  Monsieur,  that  when  the  alterations 
were  made  in  Madame's  apartment,  I  had  charge  of 
the  carving  for  her  chamber.  When  I  took  away  the 
old  woodwork,  I  saw  that  the  wall  between  the  win- 
dows was  constructed  out  of  square,  and  I  asked  Ma- 
dame if  she  wished  that  the  panel  should  be  fastened 
like  the  other  or  if  she  preferred  it  to  open  so  that  it 
would  make  a  closet.  She  said  to  have  it  open  by 
means  of  a  secret  spring.  So  I  made  the  panel  with 
concealed  hinges  and  a  little  button  hidden  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  woodwork ;  it  only  needs  to  be  pressed, 
after  turning  it  to  the  right,  and  the  woodwork  will 
open  like  a  door." 

Christian  had  now  become  extremely  attentive. 

"Monsieur  will  remember  that  he  was  in  Nancy  at 

the  time,  and  that  Madame's  chamber  was  completed 

during  his  absence.    As  I  was  the  only  one  who  worked 

in  this  room,  the  other  workmen  not  being  capable  of 

[270] 


GERFAUT 

carving  the  wood  as  Madame  wished,  I  was  the  only 
person  who  knew  that  the  panel  was  not  nailed  down 
the  length  of  the  wall." 

"Well?"  asked  the  Baron,  impatiently. 

"Well,"  Lambernier  replied,  in  a  careless  tone,  "if, 
on  account  of  the  blow  which  I  gave  the  coachman, 
it  is  necessary  for  me  to  appear  in  court,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  tell,  in  order  to  revenge  myself,  what  I  saw 
in  that  closet  not  more  than  a  month  ago." 

"Finish  your  story,"  exclaimed  Bergenheim,  as  he 
clenched  the  handle  of  his  gun. 

"Mademoiselle  Justine  took  me  into  this  room  in 
order  to  hang  some  curtains;  as  I  needed  some  nails, 
she  went  out  to  get  them.  While  I  was  examining  the 
woodwork,  which  I  had  not  seen  since  it  had  been  put 
in  place,  I  saw  that  the  oak  had  warped  in  one  place 
because  it  was  not  dry  enough  when  it  was  used.  I 
wished  to  see  if  the  same  thing  had  happened  between 
the  windows,  and  if  the  panel  could  open.  I  pressed 
the  spring,  and  when  the  door  opened  I  saw  a  small 
package  of  letters  upon  the  little  shelf;  it  seemed  very 
singular  to  me  that  Madame  should  choose  this  place 
to  keep  her  letters,  and  the  thought  came  to  me  that 
she  wished  to  conceal  them  from  Monsieur." 

Bergenheim  gave  the  workman  a  withering  glance, 
and  made  a  sign  for  him  to  continue. 

"They  were  already  talking  about  discharging  me 
from  the  chateau's  employ;  I  do  not  know  how  it 
happened,  but  the  thought  entered  my  head  that  per-  • 
haps  one  of  these  letters  would  be  of  use  to  me,  and 
I  took  the  first  one  in  the  package;  I  had  only  time 
[271] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

to  close  the  panel  when  Mademoiselle  Justine  re- 
turned." 

"Very  well!  what  is  there  in  common  between  these 
letters  and  the  criminal  court  that  awaits  you?"  asked 
Christian,  in  an  altered  voice,  although  he  tried  to  ap- 
pear indifferent. 

"Oh!  nothing  at  all,"  replied  the  carpenter,  with  an 
air  of  indifference;  "but  I  thought  that  you  would  not 
like  people  to  know  that  Madame  had  a  lover." 

Bergenheim  shivered  as  if  he  were  taken  with  a  chill, 
and  his  gun  dropped  from  his  hand  to  the  ground. 

As  quick  as  thought  Lambernier  stooped  over  to 
seize  the  gun,  but  he  did  not  have  time  to  carry  out 
his  intention,  for  he  was  seized  by  the  throat  and  half 
choked  by  an  iron  hand. 

"That  letter!  that  letter!"  said  Christian  to  him,  in 
a  low,  trembling  voice,  and  he  put  his  face  down  close 
to  the  carpenter's,  as  if  he  feared  that  a  breath  of  wind 
might  carry  away  his  words  and  repeat  them. 

"Let  me  alone  first,  I  can  not  breathe —  "  stam- 
mered the  workman,  whose  face  was  becoming  purple 
and  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his  head,  as  if  his  adversary's 
fingers  had  been  a  rope. 

The  latter  granted  the  prayer  by  loosening  his  hold 
of  the  carpenter's  neck  and  seizing  him  by  his  vest  in 
such  a  way  as  to  take  away  all  chance  of  escape  while 
leaving  him  free  to  speak. 

"This  letter!"  he  repeated. 

Frightened  by  the  shaking  he  had  just  received,  and 
not  in  a  condition  to  reflect  with  his  usual  prudence, 
Lambernier  mechanically  obeyed  this  order ;  he  hunted 
[272] 


GERFAUT 

in  his  pockets  for  some  time,  and  at  last  took  a  care- 
fully  folded  paper  from  his  vest-pocket,  saying  with  a 
stunned  air: 

"Here  it  is.    It  is  worth  ten  louis." 

Christian  seized  the  paper  and  opened  it  with  his 
teeth,  for  he  could  not  use  his  hands  without  releasing 
his  prisoner.  It  was,  like  all  notes  of  this  kind,  with- 
out address,  seal,  or  signature.  It  did  not  differ  from 
most  of  its  kind  save  in  the  natural  beauty  of  its  style 
and  its  simple  eloquence.  Ardent  protestations,  sweet 
and  loving  complaints,  those  precious  words  that  one 
bestows  only  upon  the  woman  he  loves  and  which  be- 
tray a  love  that  has  yet  much  to  desire  but  as  much  to 
hope.  The  handwriting  was  entirely  unknown  to  Ber- 
genheim,  but  Clemence's  name,  which  was  repeated 
several  times,  did  not  permit  him  to  doubt  for  a  mo- 
ment that  this  note  was  written  to  his  wife.  When  he 
had  finished  reading,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  with  ap- 
parent serenity,  and  then  looked  at  Lambernier,  who, 
during  this  time,  had  remained  motionless  under  the 
hand  that  detained  him. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Lambernier,"  said  he  to  him; 
"it  is  one  of  my  letters  before  my  marriage."  And  he 
tried  to  force  himself  to  smile ;  but  the  muscles  of  his 
lips  refused  to  act  this  falsehood,  and  drops  of  cold 
perspiration  stood  upon  his  forehead  and  at  the  roots 
of  his  hair. 

The  carpenter  had  watched  the  change  in  the  Bar- 
on's countenance  as  he  read  the  letter.  He  was  per- 
suaded that  he  could  turn  the  capital  importance  of 
his  revelations  into  profit  for  himself;  he  believed  that 
18  [273] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

the  time  had  come  when  he  might  gain  advantage  by 
showing  that  he  understood  perfectly  well  the  value  of 
the  secret  he  had  just  imparted.  So  he  replied  with  a 
glance  of  intelligence: 

"Monsieur's  handwriting  must  have  changed  greatly, 
then;  I  have  some  of  his  orders  which  do  not  resemble 
this  any  more  than  a  glass  of  water  does  a  glass  of 
wine." 

Christian  tried  to  find  a  response  but  failed.  His 
eyebrows  contracted  in  a  manner  that  betokened  a 
coming  storm,  but  Lambernier  was  not  disturbed  by 
this  symptom;  he  continued  in  a  more  and  more  as- 
sured voice: 

"When  I  said  that  this  letter  was  worth  ten  louis, 
I  meant  that  it  was  worth  that  much  to  a  mere  stranger, 
and  I  am  very  sure  I  should  not  have  to  go  very  far 
to  find  one;  but  Monsieur  le  Baron  is  too  sensible  not 
to  know  the  value  of  this  secret.  I  do  not  wish  to  set 
a  price  upon  it,  but  since  I  am  obliged  to  go  away  on 
account  of  this  coachman,  and  have  no  money 

He  did  not  have  time  to  finish;  Bergenheim  seized 
him  in  the  middle  of  the  body  and  made  him  describe 
a  horizontal  half -circle  without  touching  the  ground, 
then  threw  him  upon  his  knees  on  the  edge  of  the  path 
which  descended  almost  perpendicularly  alongside  the 
rocks.  Lambernier  suddenly  saw  his  haggard  face  re- 
flected in  the  river  fifty  feet  below.  At  this  sight,  and 
feeling  a  powerful  knee  between  his  shoulders  which 
bent  him  over  the  abyss,  as  if  to  make  him  appreciate 
its  dangers,  the  workman  uttered  a  terrified  cry;  his 
hands  clutched  wildly  at  the  tufts  of  grass  and  roots  of 
[274] 


GERFAUT 

plants  which  grew  here  and  there  on  the  sides  of  the 
rocks,  and  he  struggled  with  all  his  might  to  throw 
himself  back  upon  the  ground.  But  it  was  in  vain  for 
him  to  struggle  against  the  superior  strength  of  his 
adversary,  and  his  attempts  only  aggravated  the  danger 
of  his  position.  After  two  or  three  powerless  attempts, 
he  found  himself  lying  upon  his  stomach  with  half  his 
body  hanging  over  the  precipice,  having  nothing  to 
prevent  him  from  falling  over  but  Bergenheim's  hand, 
which  held  him  by  the  collar  and  at  the  same  time  hin- 
dered him  from  rising. 

"Have  you  ever  said  one  word  about  this?"  asked 
the  Baron,  as  he  took  hold  of  the  trunk  of  a  tree  to 
steady  himself  upon  this  dangerous  ground  that  he  had 
chosen  as  the  field  of  discussion. 

"To  nobody! — ah! — how  my  head  swims!"  replied 
the  carpenter,  closing  his  eyes  in  terror,  for  the  blood 
rushing  to  his  brain  made  him  dizzy,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  river  was  slowly  reaching  him. 

"You  see  that  if  I  make  one  gesture,  you  are  a 
dead  man,"  replied  the  Baron,  leaning  upon  him 
harder  yet. 

"Give  me  up  to  the  police;  I  will  say  nothing  about 
the  letters;  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God,  I  will  say  noth- 
ing. But  do  not  let  me  fall — hold  me  tight — do  not 
let  go  of  me — I  am  slipping — oh !  holy  mother  of  God ! " 

Christian  taking  hold  of  the  tree  near  him,  leaned 
over  and  raised  Lambernier  up,  for  he  really  was  in- 
capable of  doing  so  himself;  fright  and  the  sight  of 
the  water  had  given  him  vertigo.  When  he  was  upon 
his  legs  again,  he  reeled  like  a  drunken  man  and  his 
[275] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

feet  nearly  gave  way  beneath  him.  The  Baron  looked 
at  him  a  moment  in  silence,  but  at  last  he  said: 

"Go  away,  leave  the  country  at  once;  you  have 
time  to  fly  before  there  will  be  any  pursuit.  But  re- 
member that  if  I  ever  hear  one  word  of  what  has 
passed  between  us  from  your  lips,  I  shall  know  how  to 
find  you  and  you  will  die  by  my  hand." 

"I  swear  by  the  Holy  Virgin  and  by  all  the  saints — " 
stammered  Lambernier,  who  had  suddenly  become  a 
very  fervent  Catholic. 

Christian  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  stone  steps 
beneath  them. 

"There  is  your  road;  pass  over  the  rock,  through 
the  woods,  and  reach  Alsace.  If  you  conduct  yourself 
well,  I  will  assure  your  living.  But  remember;  one 
single  indiscreet  word,  and  you  are  a  dead  man." 

At  these  words  he  pushed  him  into  the  path  with 
one  of  those  quick  movements  which  very  powerful 
men  can  not  always  calculate  the  effect  of.  Lamber- 
nier, whose  strength  was  almost  exhausted  by  the 
struggles  he  had  undergone,  had  not  vigor  enough  left 
to  stand,  and  he  lost  his  balance  at  this  violent  as  well 
as  unexpected  push.  He  stumbled  over  the  first  step, 
reeled  as  he  tried  to  regain  his  footing,  and  fell  head 
first  down  the  almost  vertical  declivity.  A  ledge  of  the 
cliff,  against  which  he  first  struck,  threw  him  upon  the 
loose  rocks.  He  slowly  glided  downward,  uttering 
lamentable  cries;  he  clutched,  for  a  moment,  a  little 
bush  which  had  grown  in  a  crevice  of  the  rocks  but  he 
did  not  have  strength  enough  to  hold  on  to  it,  his  arm 
having  been  broken  in  three  places  by  his  fall.  He  let 
[276] 


GERFAUT 

go  of  it  suddenly,  and  dropped  farther  and  farther 
down  uttering  a  last  terrible  shriek  of  despair;  he 
rolled  over  twice  again — and  then  fell  into  the  torrent 
below,  that  swallowed  him  up  like  a  mass  already  de- 
prived of  life. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MARTLLAC  TELLS  A  STORY 

^UESTS  were  seated  that  evening 
around  the  oval  table  in  the  dining- 
room  of  the  castle  of  Bergenheim. 
According  to  custom,  the  ladies  were 
not  present  at  this  repast.  This  was 
a  custom  which  had  been  adopted  by 
the  Baroness  for  the  suppers  which 
were  given  by  her  husband  at  the 
close  of  his  hunting  parties;  she  dispensed  with  ap- 
pearing at  table  on  those  days;  perhaps  she  was  too 
fastidious  to  preside  at  these  lengthy  seances  of  which 
the  ruses  of  the  hare,  the  death  of  the  stag,  and  the 
feats  of  the  hounds,  formed  the  principal  topics  of  con- 
versation. It  is  probable  that  this  conduct  was  duly 
appreciated  by  those  who  participated  in  those  rather 
boisterous  repasts,  and  that  they  felt  a  certain  grati- 
tude, in  spite  of  the  regrets  they  manifested  on  ac- 
count of  Madame's  absence. 

Among  the  guests  was  Marillac,  whose  sparkling  eye, 
and  cheeks  even  more  rosy  than  usual,  made  him  con- 
spicuous. Seated  between  a  fat  notary  and  another 
boon  companion,  who  were  almost  as  drunk  as  he  Mar- 
iliac  emptied  glass  after  glass,  red  wine  after  the 
white,  the  white  after  the  red,  with  noisy  laughter, 
[278] 


GERFAUT 

and  jests  of  all  kinds  by  way  of  accompaniment.  His 
head  became  every  moment  more  and  more  excited  by 
the  libations  destined  to  refresh  his  throat,  and  his 
neighbors,  without  his  perceiving  the  conspiracy, 
thought  it  would  be  good  fun  to  put  a  Parisian  dandy 
under  the  table.  However,  he  was  not  the  only  one 
who  was  gliding  over  the  slippery  precipice  that  leads 
to  the  attractive  abyss  of  drunkenness.  The  majority 
of  the  guests  shared  his  imprudent  abandon  and  pro- 
gressive exaltation.  A  bacchic  emulation  reigned, 
which  threatened  to  end  in  scenes  bordering  upon  a 
debauch. 

Among  these  highly  colored  cheeks,  under  which  the 
wine  seemed  to  circulate  with  the  blood,  these  eyes 
shining  with  a  dull,  fictitious  light,  all  this  disorderly 
pantomime  so  contrary  to  the  quiet  habit  of  the  gesticu- 
lators,  two  faces  contrasted  strangely  with  the  careless 
mirth  of  the  others.  The  Baron  fulfilled  his  duties  as 
master  of  the  house  with  a  sort  of  nervous  excitement 
which  might  pass  for  genuine  merriment  in  the  eyes  of 
those  of  his  guests  who  were  in  no  condition  to  study 
his  countenance;  but  a  quiet  observer  would  soon 
have  discerned  that  these  violent  efforts  at  good-humor 
and  bantering  concealed  some  terrible  suffering.  From 
time  to  time,  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  or  a  laugh,  he 
would  suddenly  stop,  the  muscles  of  his  face  would 
twitch  as  if  the  spring  which  set  them  in  motion  had 
broken;  his  expression  became  sombre  and  savage; 
he  sank  back  in  his  chair  motionless,  a  stranger  to  all 
that  surrounded  him,  and  gave  himself  up  to  some 
mysterious  thought  against  which  resistance  seemed 
[279] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

powerless.  Suddenly  he  appeared  to  wake  from  some 
perplexing  dream,  and  by  another  powerful  effort 
aroused  himself  and  joined  in  the  conversation  with 
sharp,  cutting  speeches;  he  encouraged  the  noisy  humor 
of  his  guests,  inciting  them  to  drunkenness  by  setting 
the  example  himself;  then  the  same  mysterious  thought 
would  cross  his  face  anew,  and  he  would  fall  back 
into  the  tortures  of  a  revery  which  must  have  been 
horrible,  to  judge  by  the  expression  of  his  face. 

Among  his  guests,  one  only,  who  was  seated  almost 
opposite  Bergenheim,  seemed  to  be  in  the  secret  of  his 
thoughts  and  to  study  the  symptoms  with  deep  atten- 
tion. Gerfaut,  for  it  was  he,  showed  an  interest  in 
this  examination  which  reacted  on  his  own  counte- 
nance, for  he  was  paler  than  ever. 

"When  I  saw  that  the  hare  was  reaching  the  upper 
road,"  said  one  of  the  guests,  a  handsome  old  man 
about  sixty  years  of  age,  with  gray  hair  and  rosy 
cheeks,  "I  ran  toward  the  new  clearing  to  wait  for  its 
return.  I  felt  perfectly  sure,  notary,  that  he  would 
pass  through  your  hands  safe  and  sound." 

"Now,  notary,"  said  Marillac,  from  the  other  end 
of  the  table,  "defend  yourself;  one,  two,  three, 
ready!" 

"Monsieur  de  Gamier,"  replied  the  hunter  whose 
skill  had  been  questioned,  "I  do  not  pretend  to  have 
your  skill.  I  never  have  shot  as  large  game  as  you 
did  at  your  last  hunt." 

This  reply  was  an  allusion  to  a  little  misadventure 
which  had  happened  to  the  first  speaker,  who,  on  ac- 
count of  near-sightedness,  had  shot  a  cow,  taking  it  for 
[280] 


GERFAUT 

a  buck.  The  laugh,  which  had  been  at  the  notary's 
expense  first,  now  turned  against  his  adversary. 

"How  many  pairs  of  boots  did  you  get  out  of  your 
game?"  asked  one. 

"Gentlemen,  let  us  return  to  our  conversation,"  said 
a  young  man,  whose  precise  face  aspired  to  an  austere 
and  imposing  air.  "Up  to  this  time,  we  can  form  only 
very  vague  conjectures  as  to  the  road  that  Lambernier 
took  to  escape.  This,  allow  me  to  say,  is  more  im- 
portant than  the  notary's  hare  or  Monsieur  de  Ca- 
mier's  cow." 

At  these  words,  Bergenheim,  who  had  taken  no  part 
in  the  conversation,  straightened  up  in  his  chair. 

"A  glass  of  Sauterne,"  said  he,  suddenly,  to  one  of 
his  neighbors. 

Gerfaut  looked  at  him  stealthily  for  a  moment,  and 
then  lowered  his  eyes,  as  if  he  feared  his  glance  might 
be  noticed. 

"The  public  prosecutor  scents  a  culprit,  and  there  is 
no  fear  he  will  drop  the  trail,"  said  the  notary. 

"The  case  will  doubtless  come  up  at  the  next  session 
of  the  Assizes." 

M.  de  Gamier  put  his  glass,  which  was  half  filled, 
upon  the  table,  angrily  exclaiming: 

"The  devil  take  the  jury!  I  am  called  to  the  next 
session,  and  I  will  wager  my  head  that  I  shall  be 
drawn.  How  agreeable  that  will  be!  To  leave  my 
home  and  business  in  the  middle  of  winter  and  spend 
a  fortnight  with  a  lot  of  fellows  whom  I  do  not  know 
from  Adam!  That  is  one  of  the  agreeable  things  sup- 
plied by  constitutional  government.  The  French  have 
[281] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

to  be  judged  by  their  peers!  Of  what  use  is  it  to  pay 
for  judges  if  we,  land-owners,  are  obliged  to  do  their 
work.  The  old  parliaments,  against  which  so  much 
has  been  said,  were  a  thousand  times  better  than  all 
this  bedlam  let  loose  in  a  court  of  assizes." 

Marillac,  who  during  this  speech  was  amusing  him- 
self with  singing  his  low  "G"  while  peeling  an  apple, 
interrupted  his  song,  to  the  great  relief  of  a  hound  who 
lay  at  his  feet,  and  whose  nerves  seemed  to  be  singu- 
larly affected  by  the  strain. 

"Monsieur  de  Gamier,"  said  he,  "you  are  a  large 
land-owner,  an  eligible  citizen  and  a  Carlist;  you  fast 
on  Fridays,  go  to  mass  in  your  parish,  and  occasion- 
ally kill  cows  for  bucks;  I  esteem  and  respect  you; 
but  allow  me  to  say  that  you  have  just  uttered  an  old, 
antediluvian  platitude." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  public  prosecutor,  punctuat- 
ing each  word  with  his  first  finger,  "I  have  the  greatest 
respect  for  the  old  parliaments,  those  worthy  models  of 
our  modern  magistracy,  those  incorruptible  defenders 
of  national  freedom,  but  my  veneration  is  none  the 
less  great  for  the  institutions  emanating  from  our  wise 
constitution,  and  it  prevents  me  from  adopting  an  ex- 
clusive opinion.  However,  without  pretending  to  pro- 
claim in  too  absolute  a  manner  the  superiority  of  the 
old  system  over  the  new,  I  am  in  a  certain  sense  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Carrier's  opinion.  In  my  position,  I  am  bet- 
ter able  than  any  other  person  to  study  the  advantages 
and  disadvantages  of  a  jury,  and  I  am  forced  to  admit 
that  if  the  advantages  are  real,  the  disadvantages  are 
none  the  less  indisputable.  One  of  the  great  vices  of 
[282] 


GERFAUT 

juries  consists  in  the  habit  that  a  great  number  of  its 
members  have  of  calling  for  material  proofs  in  order 
to  form  their  opinions.  They  must  almost  see  the 
wounds  of  the  victim  before  agreeing  on  a  verdict. 
As  to  Lambernier,  I  hope  that  they  will  not  contest  the 
existence  of  the  main  evidence :  the  victim's  still  bleed- 
ing thigh." 

"Tra-de-ri-di-ra,"  exclaimed  the  artist,  striking  al- 
ternately with  his  knife  a  glass  and  a  bottle,  as  if  he 
were  playing  a  triangle.  "I  must  say  that  you  choose 
madly  gay  subjects  for  conversation.  We  are  truly 
a  joyous  crowd;  look  at  Bergenheim  opposite  us;  he 
looks  like  Macbeth  in  the  presence  of  Banquo's  ghost; 
here  is  my  friend  Gerfaut  drinking  water  with  a  pro- 
foundly solemn  air.  Good  gracious,  gentlemen !  enough 
of  this  foolish  talk!  Let  them  cut  this  Lambernier 's 
throat  and  put  an  end  to  the  subject !  The  theatre  for 
dramatic  music,  the  church  for  sacred! 

Le  vin,  le  jeu,  les  belles, 
Voilot,  mes  seuls  amours" 

A  general  protestation  rose  from  the  whole  table  at 
this  verse,  which  was  roared  out  in  a  lugubrious  voice. 
Noisy  shouts,  rapping  of  knives  upon  tumblers  and 
bottles,  and  exclamations  of  all  kinds  called  the  ora- 
tor to  order. 

"Monsieur  Marillac,"  exclaimed  the  public  prose- 
cutor, in  a  joking  tone,  "it  seems  to  me  that  you  have 
wandered  from  the  subject." 

The  artist  looked  at  him  with  an  astonished  air. 

"Had  I  anything  in  particular  to  say  to  you?"  he 
[283] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

asked;  "if  so,  I  will  sustain  my  point.  Only  do  me 
the  kindness  to  tell  me  what  it  was  about." 

"It  was  on  the  subject  of  this  man  Lambernier," 
whispered  the  notary  to  him,  as  he  poured  out  a  glass 
of  wine.  "Courage!  you  improvise  better  than  Ber- 
ryer!  If  you  exert  yourself,  the  public  prosecutor  will 
be  beaten  in  no  time." 

Marillac  thanked  h's  neighbor  with  a  smile  and  a 
nod  of  the  head,  which  signified:  "Trust  me."  He 
then  emptied  his  glass  with  the  recklessness  that  had 
characterized  his  drinking  for  some  time,  but,  strangely 
enough,  the  libation,  instead  of  putting  the  finishing 
stroke  to  his  drunkenness,  gave  his  mind,  for  the  time 
being,  a  sort  of  lucidity. 

"The  accusation,"  he  continued,  with  the  coolness 
of  an  old  lawyer,  "rests  upon  two  grounds:  first,  the 
presence  without  cause  of  the  accused  upon  the  spot 
where  the  crime  was  committed;  second,  the  nature 
of  the  weapon  used. — Two  simple  but  peremptory  re- 
plies will  make  the  scaffold  which  has  been  erected 
upon  this  double  supposition  fall  to  the  ground.  First, 
Lambernier  had  a  rendezvous  at  this  place,  and  at 
the  exact  hour  when  this  crime  with  which  he  is  ac- 
cused took  place;  this  will  be  proved  by  a  witness, 
and  will  be  established  by  evidence  in  a  most  indis- 
putable manner.  His  presence  will  thus  be  explained 
without  its  being  interpreted  in  any  way  against  him. 
Second,  the  public  prosecutor  has  admitted  that  the 
carrying  of  a  weapon  which  Lambernier  may  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  using  in  his  regular  trade  could 
not  be  used  as  an  argument  against  him,  and  for  that 
[284] 


GERFAUT 

same  reason  could  not  be  used  as  an  argument  in  favor 
of  premeditation;  now,  this  is  precisely  the  case  in 
question.  This  weapon  was  neither  a  sword,  bayonet, 
nor  stiletto,  nothing  that  the  fertile  imagination  of  the 
public  prosecutor  could  imagine;  it  was  a  simple  tool 
used  by  the  accused  in  his  profession,  the  presence  of 
which  in  his  pocket  is  as  easily  understood  as  that  of  a 
snuff-box  in  the  pocket  of  my  neighbor,  the  notary,  who 
takes  twenty  pinches  of  snuff  a  minute.  Gentlemen, 
this  weapon  was  a  pair  of  carpenter's  compasses." 

"A  compass!"  exclaimed  several  voices  at  once. 

"A  compass!"  exclaimed  the  Baron,  gazing  fixedly 
at  the  artist.  Then  he  carried  his  hand  to  his  pocket, 
and  suddenly  withdrew  it,  as  he  felt  the  workman's 
compass  there,  where  it  had  been  ever  since  the  scene 
upon  the  rocks. 

"An  iron  compass,"  repeated  the  artist,  " about  ten 
inches  long,  more  or  less,  the  legs  of  it  being  closed." 

"Will  you  explain  yourself,  Monsieur?"  excitedly 
exclaimed  the  public  prosecutor,  "for  it  really  seems 
as  if  you  had  witnessed  the  crime.  In  that  case  you 
will  be  called  out  as  a  witness  for  the  defence.  Jus- 
tice is  impartial,  gentlemen.  Justice  has  not  two  pairs 
of  scales." 

"To  the  devil  with  justice!  You  must  have  come 
from  Timbuctoo  to  use  such  old-fashioned  meta- 
phors." 

"Make  your  deposition,  witness;  I  require  you  to 
make  your  deposition,"  said  the  magistrate,  whose  in- 
creasing drunkenness  appeared  as  dignified  and  solemn 
as  the  artist  was  noisy. 

[285] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  have  nothing  to  state;  I  saw  nothing." 

Here  the  Baron  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  these  words 
were  a  relief. 

"But  I  saw  something!"  said  Gerfaut  to  himself,  as 
he  gazed  at  the  Baron's  face,  upon  which  anxiety  was 
depicted. 

"I  reason  by  hypothesis  and  supposition,"  continued 
the  artist.  "I  had  a  little  altercation  with  Lamber- 
nier  a  few  days  ago,  and,  but  for  my  good  poniard,  he 
would  have  put  an  end  to  me  as  he  did  to  this  fellow 
to-day." 

He  then  related  his  meeting  with  Lambernier,  but 
the  consideration  due  Mademoiselle  Gobillot's  honor 
imposed  numberless  circumlocutions  and  concealments 
which  ended  by  making  his  story  rather  unintelligible 
to  his  auditors,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  his  head  became 
so  muddled  that  he  was  completely  put  out. 

"Basta!"  he  exclaimed,  in  conclusion,  as  he  dropped 
heavily  into  his  chair.  "Not  another  word  for  the 
whole  empire.  Give  me  something  to  drink!  Notary, 
you  are  the  only  man  here  who  has  any  regard  for  me. 
One  thing  is  certain  about  this  matter — I  am  in  ten 
louis  by  this  rascal's  adventure." 

These  words  struck  the  Baron  forcibly,  as  they 
brought  to  his  mind  what  the  carpenter  had  said  to 
him  when  he  gave  him  the  letter. 

"Ten  louis!"  said  he,  suddenly,  looking  at  Marillac 
as  if  he  wished  to  look  into  his  very  heart. 

"Two  hundred  francs,  if  you  like  it  better.    A  gen 
uine  bargain.    But  we  have  talked  enough,  mio  caro; 
you  deceive  yourselves  if  you  think  you  are  going  to 


GERFAUT 

make  me  blab.  No,  indeed!  I  am  not  the  one  to 
allow  myself  to  become  entangled.  I  am  now  as  mute 
and  silent  as  the  grave." 

Bergenheim  insisted  no  longer,  but,  leaning  against 
the  back  of  his  chair,  he  let  his  head  fall  upon  his 
breast.  He  remained  for  some  time  buried  in  thought 
and  vainly  trying  to  connect  the  obscure  words  he  had 
just  heard  with  Lambernier's  incomplete  revelations. 
With  the  exception  of  Gerfaut,  who  did  not  lose  one 
of  his  host's  movements,  the  guests,  more  or  less  ab- 
sorbed by  their  own  sensations,  paid  no  attention  to 
the  strange  attitude  of  the  master  of  the  house,  or,  like 
Monsieur  de  Gamier,  attributed  it  to  the  influence  of 
wine.  The  conversation  continued  its  noisy  course, 
interrupted  every  few  moments  by  the  startling  vagaries 
of  some  guest  more  animatedly  excited  than  the  rest, 
for,  at  the  end  of  a  repast  where  sobriety  has  not 
reigned,  each  one  is  disposed  to  impose  upon  others 
the  despotism  of  his  own  intoxication,  and  the  idle  talk 
of  his  peculiar  hallucinations.  Marillac  bore  away  the 
prize  among  the  talking  contingent,  thanks  to  the  vigor 
of  his  lungs  and  the  originality  of  his  words,  which 
sometimes  forced  the  attention  of  his  adversaries. 
Finally  he  remained  master  of  the  field,  and  flashed 
volleys  of  his  drunken  eloquence  to  the  right  and  left. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  he  exclaimed,  in  the  midst  of  his  tri- 
umph, as  he  glanced  disdainfully  up  and  down  the 
table,  "it  really  is  a  pity,  gentlemen,  to  listen  to  your 
conversation.  One  could  imagine  nothing  more  com- 
monplace—prosaic or  bourgeois.  Would  it  not  please 
you  to  indulge  in  a  discussion  of  a  little  higher  order? 
[287] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Let  us  join  hands,  and  talk  of  poetry  and  art.  I  am 
thirsting  for  an  artistic  conversation;  I  am  thirsting 
for  wit  and  intelligence." 

"You  must  drink  if  you  are  thirsty,"  said  the  notary, 
filling  his  glass  to  the  brim. 

The  artist  emptied  it  at  one  draught,  and  continued 
in  a  languishing  voice  as  he  gazed  with  a  loving  look 
at  his  fat  neighbor. 

"I  will  begin  our  artistic  conversation:  'Knowest 
thou  the  land  where  the  orange-flower  blooms?' ': 

"  It  is  warmer  than  ours,"  replied  the  notary,  who  was 
not  familiar  with  Mignon's  song ;  and,  beginning  to  laugh 
maliciously,  he  gave  a  wink  at  his  neighbors  as  if  to  say: 

"I  have  settled  him  now." 

Marillac  leaned  toward  him  with  the  meekness  of  a 
lamb  that  presents  his  head  to  the  butcher,  and  sym- 
pathetically pressed  his  hands. 

"O  poet!"  he  continued,  "do  you  not  feel,  as  I  do 
at  the  twilight  hour  and  in  the  eventide,  a  vague  de- 
sire for  a  sunny,  perfumed,  southern  life?  Will  you 
not  bid  adieu  to  this  sterile  country  and  sail  away  to 
a  land  where  the  blue  sky  is  reflected  in  the  blue  sea  ? 
Venice!  the  Rialto,  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  Saint  Mark! 
Rome!  the  Coliseum  and  Saint  Peter — But  I  know 
Italy  by  heart;  let  us  go  instead  to  Constantinople. 
I  am  thirsting  for  sultanas  and  houris;  I  am  thirst- 
ing- 

"Good  gracious!  why  do  you  not  drink  if  you  are 
thirsty?" 

"Gladly.  I  never  say  no  to  that.  I  scorn  love  in 
a  nightcap;  I  adore  danger.  Danger  is  life  to  me. 
[288] 


GERFAUT 

I  dote  on  silken  ladders  as  long  as  Jacob's,  on  citadels 
worth  scaling;  on  moonlight  evenings,  bearded  hus- 
bands, and  all  that  sort  of  thing — I  would  love  a  bed 
composed  of  five  hundred  poniards;  you  understand 
me,  poet — 

"I  beg  of  you,  do  not  make  him  drink  any  more," 
said  Gerfaut  to  the  notary. 

"You  are  right  not  to  wish  to  drink  any  more,  Oc- 
tave, I  was  about  to  advise  you  not  to.  You  have 
already  drunk  to  excess  to-day,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
it  will  make  you  ill;  your  health  is  so  weak — you  are 
not  a  strong  man  like  me.  Fancy,  gentlemen,  Mon- 
sieur le  Vicomte  de  Gerfaut,  a  native  of  Gascony,  a 
roue  by  profession,  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  in 
literature,  is  afflicted  by  nature  with  a  stomach  which 
has  nothing  in  common  with  that  of  an  ostrich;  he 
has  need  to  use  the  greatest  care.  So  we  have  him 
drink  seltzer-water  principally,  and  feed  him  on  the 
white  meat  of  the  chicken.  Besides,  we  keep  this 
precious  phenomenon  rolled  up  between  two  wool 
blankets  and  over  a  kettle  of  boiling  water.  He  is  a 
great  poet;  I  myself  am  a  very  great  poet." 

"And  I  also,  I  hope,"  said  the  notary. 

"Gentlemen,  formerly  there  were  poets  who  wrote 
only  in  verse;  nowadays  they  revel  in  prose.  There 
are  some  even  who  are  neither  prose  nor  verse  writers, 
who  have  never  confided  their  secret  to  anybody,  and 
who  selfishly  keep  their  poetry  to  themselves.  It  is  a 
very  simple  thing  to  be  a  poet,  provided  you  feel  the 
indescribable  intoxication  of  the  soul,  and  understand 
the  inexpressible  afflatus  that  bubbles  over  in  your 
19  [  289  ] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

large  brain,  and  your  noble  heart  throbs  under  your 
left  breast— 

"He  is  as  drunk  as  a  fool,"  said  M.  de  Gamier,  loud 
enough  for  him  to  hear. 

"Old  man,"  said  he,  "you  are  the  one  who  is  drunk. 
Besides  the  word  drunk  is  not  civil;  if  you  had  said 
intoxicated  I  should  not  have  objected." 

Loud  shouts  of  laughter  burst  forth  from  the  party. 
He  threw  a  threatening  glance  around  him,  as  if  he 
were  seeking  some  one  upon  whom  to  vent  his  anger, 
and,  placing  his  hand  upon  his  hip,  assumed  the  pose 
of  a  bully. 

"Softly,  my  good  fellows!"  said  he,  "if  any  of  you 
pretend  that  I  am  drunk,  I  declare  to  him  that  he  lies, 
and  I  call  him  a  misantrophe,  a  vagabond,  an  aca- 
demician!" he  concluded,  with  a  loud  burst  of  laugh- 
ter; for  he  thought  that  the  jesters  would  be  crushed 
by  this  last  heavy  weapon. 

"By  Jove!  your  friend  is  hilariously  drunk,"  said 
the  notary  to  Gerfaut;  "while  here  is  Bergenheim, 
who  has  not  taken  very  much  wine,  and  yet  looks  as 
if  he  were  assisting  at  a  funeral.  I  thought  he  was 
more  substantial  than  this." 

Marillac's  voice  burst  out  more  loudly  than  ever, 
and  Octave's  reply  was  not  heard. 

"It  is  simply  astounding.  They  are  all  as  drunk  as 
fools,  and  yet  they  pretend  that  it  is  I  who  am  drunk. 
Very  well!  I  defy  you  all;  who  among  you  wishes  to 
argue  with  me?  Will  you  discuss  art,  literature,  poli- 
tics, medicine,  music,  philosophy,  archeology,  juris- 
prudence, magnetism ' 

[290] 


GERFAUT 

"Jurisprudence!"  exclaimed  the  thick  voice  of  the 
public  prosecutor,  who  was  aroused  from  his  stupor 
by  this  magic  word;  "let  us  talk  jurisprudence." 

"Would  you  like,"  said  Marillac,  without  stopping 
at  this  interruption,  "that  I  should  improvise  a  dis- 
course upon  the  death  penalty  or  upon  temperance? 
Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  a  story?" 

"A  story,  yes,  a  story!"  they  all  exclaimed  in  unison. 

"Speak  out,  then;  order  what  story  you  like;  it  will 
cost  you  nothing,"  replied  the  artist,  rubbing  his  hands 
with  a  radiant  air.  "Would  you  like  a  tale  from  the 
Middle  Ages?  a  fairy,  an  eastern,  a  comical,  or  a 
private  story?  I  warn  you  that  the  latter  style  is  less 
old-fashioned  than  the  others." 

"Let  us  have  it,  then,  by  all  means,"  said  all  the 
drunken  voices. 

"Very  well.  Now  would  you  like  it  to  be  laid  in 
Spain,  Arabia,  or  France?" 

"France!"  exclaimed  the  prosecutor. 

"I  am  French,  you  are  French,  he  is  French.  You 
shall  have  a  French  story." 

Marillac  leaned  his  forehead  upon  his  hands,  and 
his  elbows  upon  the  table,  as  if  to  gather  his  scattered 
ideas.  After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  he  raised  his 
head  and  looked  first  at  Gerfaut,  then  at  Bergenheim, 
with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"It  would  be  very  original,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice 
as  if  replying  to  his  own  thoughts. 

"The  story!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  party,  more  im- 
patient than  the  rest. 

"Here  it  is,"  replied  the  artist.  "You  all  know, 
[291] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

gentlemen,  how  difficult  it  always  is  to  choose  a  title. 
In  order  not  to  make  you  wait,  I  have  chosen  one 
which  is  already  well  known.  My  story  is  to  be  called 
'The  husband,  the  wife,  and  the  lover.'  We  are  not 
all  single  men  here,  and  a  wise  proverb  says  that  one 
must  never  speak " 

In  spite  of  his  muddled  brain,  the  artist  did  not 
finish  his  quotation.  A  remnant  of  common-sense 
made  him  realize  that  he  was  treading  upon  dangerous 
ground  and  was  upon  the  point  of  committing  an  un- 
pardonable indiscretion.  Fortunately,  the  Baron  had 
paid  no  attention  to  his  words ;  but  Gerfaut  was  fright- 
ened at  his  friend's  jabbering,  and  threw  him  a  glance 
of  the  most  threatening  advice  to  be  prudent.  Ma- 
rillac  vaguely  understood  his  mistake,  and  was  half  in- 
timidated by  this  glance;  he  leaned  before  the  notary 
and  said  to  him,  in  a  voice  which  he  tried  to  make 
confidential,  but  which  could  be  heard  from  one  end 
of  the  table  to  the  other: 

"Be  calm,  Octave,  I  will  tell  it  in  obscure  words 
and  in  such  a  way  that  he  will  not  see  anything  in  it. 
It  is  a  scene  for  a  drama  that  I  have  in  my  mind." 

"You  will  make  some  grotesque  blunder,  if  you  go 
on  drinking  and  talking,"  replied  Gerfaut,  in  an  anx- 
ious voice.  "Hold  your  tongue,  or  else  come  away 
from  the  table  with  me." 

"When  I  tell  you  that  I  will  use  obscure  words," 
replied  the  artist;  " what  do  you  take  me  for ?  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  will  gloss  it  over  in  such  a  way  that  no- 
body will  suspect  anything." 

"The  story!  the  story!"  exclaimed  several,  who 
[292] 


GERFAUT 

were  amused  by  the  incoherent    chattering    of    the 
artist. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  the  latter,  sitting  upright  in  his 
chair  and  paying  no  heed  to  his  friend's  warnings. 
"The  scene  takes  place  in  a  little  court  in  Germany — 
Eh!"  said  he,  looking  at  Gerfaut  and  maliciously  wink- 
ing his  eye — "do  you  not  think  that  is  glossed  over?" 

"Not  in  a  German  court,  you  said  it  was  to  be  a 
French  story,"  said  the  public  prosecutor,  disposed  to 
play  the  critic  toward  the  orator  who  had  reduced  him 
to  silence. 

"Well,  it  is  a  French  story,  but  the  scene  is  laid  in 
Germany,"  he  replied,  coolly. — "Do  you  desire  to  teach 
me  my  profession?  Understand  that  nothing  is  more 
elastic  than  a  German  court;  the  story-teller  can  intro- 
duce there  whoever  he  likes;  I  may  bring  in  the  Shah 
of  Persia  and  the  Emperor  of  China  if  I  care  to.  How- 
ever, if  you  prefer  the  court  of  Italy,'  it  is  the  same 
thing  to  me." 

This  conciliating  proposal  remained  without  re- 
sponse. Marillac  continued  raising  his  eyes  in  such 
a  way  that  nothing  but  the  whites  could  be  seen,  and 
as  if  he  were  searching  for  his  words  in  the  ceiling. 

"The  Princess  Borinski  was  walking  slowly  in  the 
mysterious  alley  on  the  borders  of  the  foaming  tor- 
rent— 

"Borinski!  she  is  a  Pole,  then?"  interrupted  M.  de 
Gamier. 

"Oh!  go  to  the  devil,  old  man!  Do  not  interrupt 
me,"  exclaimed  the  artist,  impatiently. 

"That  is  right.     Silence  now." 
[293] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"You  have  the  floor,"  said  several  voices  at  once. 

" — She  was  pale,  and  she  heaved  convulsive  sighs 
and  wrung  her  soft,  warm  hands,  and  a  white  pearl 
relied  from  her  dark  lashes,  and — 

"Why  do  you  begin  all  your  phrases  with  'and?'" 
asked  the  public  prosecutor,  with  the  captiousness  of 
an  inexorable  critic. 

"Because  it  is  biblical  and  unaffected.  Now  let  me 
alcne,"  replied  Marillac,  with  superb  disdain.  "You 
are  a  police-officer;  I  am  an  artist;  what  is  there  in 
common  between  you  and  me ?  I  will  continue:  And 
he  saw  this  pensive,  weeping  woman  pass  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  he  said  to  the  Prince:  'Borinski,  a  bit  of 
root  in  which  my  foot  caught  has  hurt  my  limb,  will 
you  suffer  me  to  return  to  the  palace  ?  And  the  Prince 
Borinski  said  to  him,  'Shall  my  men  carry  you  in  a 
palanquin?'  and  the  cunning  Octave  replied " 

"Your  story  has  not  even  common-sense  and  you 
are  a  terrible  bore,"  interrupted  Gerfaut  brusquely. 
" Gentlemen,  are  we  going  to  sit  at  the  table  all  night?" 

He  arose,  but  nobody  followed  his  example.  Ber- 
genheim,  who  for  the  last  few  minutes  had  lent  an 
attentive  ear  to  the  artist's  story,  gazed  alternately  at 
the  two  friends  with  an  observing  eye. 

"Let  him  talk,"  said  the  young  magistrate,  with  an 
ironical  smile.  "I  like  the  palanquin  in  the  court  of 
Germany.  That  is  probably  what  novelists  call  local 
color.  O  Racine,  poor,  deserted  Racine!" 

Marillac  was  not  intimidated  this  time  by  Gerfaut's 
withering  glance,  but,  with  the  obstinacy  of  drunken- 
ness, continued  in  a  more  or  less  stammering  voice: 
[294! 


GERFAUT 

"I  swore  that  I  would  gloss  it  over;  you  annoy  me. 
1  committed  an  error,  gentlemen,  in  calling  the  lover 
in  this  story  Octave.  It  is  as  clear  as  day  that  his 
name  is  Boleslas,  Boleslas  Matalowski.  There  is  no 
more  connection  between  him  and  my  friend  Octave 
than  there  is  between  my  other  friend  Bergenheim  and 
the  prince  Kolinski — Woginski — what  the  devil  has  be- 
come of  my  Prince's  name  ?  A  good  reward  to  who- 
ever will  tell  me  his  name!" 

"It  is  wrong  to  take  advantage  of  his  condition  and 
make  him  talk  any  more,"  said  Gerfaut.  "I  beg  of 
you,  Marillac,  hold  your  tongue  and  come  with  me," 
said  he,  lowering  his  voice  as  he  leaned  toward  the 
headstrong  story-teller  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  try- 
ing to  make  him  rise.  This  attempt  only  irritated 
Marillac;  he  seized  hold  of  the  edge  of  the  table  and 
clung  to  it  with  all  his  might,  screaming: 

"No!  a  thousand  times  no!  I  will  finish  my  story. 
President,  allow  me  to  speak.  Ah!  ha!  you  wish  to 
prevent  me  from  speaking  because  you  know  that  I 
tell  a  story  better  than  you,  and  that  I  make  an  im- 
pression upon  my  audience.  You  never  have  been 
able  to  catch  my  chic.  Jealous!  Envious!  I  know 
you,  serpent!" 

"I  beg  of  you,  if  you  ever  cared  for  me,  listen!" 
replied  Octave,  who,  as  he  bent  over  his  friend,  no- 
ticed the  Baron's  attentive  look. 

"No,  I  say  no!"  shouted  the  artist  again,  and  he 

added  to  this  word  one  of  the  ugliest-sounding  oaths 

in  the  French  language.    He  arose,  and  pushing  Octave 

aside,  leaned  upon  the  table,  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh. 

[295] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Poets  all,"  said  he,  "be  reassured  and  rejoice. 
You  shall  have  your  story,  in  spite  of  those  envious 
serpents.  But  first  give  me  something  to  drink,  for  my 
throat  is  like  a  box  of  matches.  No  wine,"  he  added, 
as  he  saw  the  notary  armed  with  a  bottle.  "This 
devilish  wine  has  made  me  thirsty  instead  of  refreshing 
me;  besides,  I  am  going  to  be  as  sober  as  a  judge." 

Gerfaut,  with  the  desperation  of  a  man  who  sees  that 
he  is  about  to  be  ruined,  seized  him  again  by  the  arm 
and  tried  to  fascinate  him  by  his  steady  gaze.  But  he 
obtained  no  response  to  this  mute  and  threatening  sup- 
plication except  a  stupid  smile  and  these  stammering 
words: 

"Give  me  something  to  drink,  Boleslas — Marinski — 
Graboski — I  believe  that  Satan  has  lighted  his  heating 
apparatus  within  my  stomach." 

The  persons  seated  near  the  two  friends  heard  an 
angry  hiss  from  Gerfaut's  lips.  He  suddenly  leaned 
over,  and  taking,  from  among  several  bottles,  a  little 
carafe  he  filled  Marillac's  glass  to  the  brim. 

"Thanks,"  said  the  latter,  trying  to  stand  erect  upon 
his  legs;  "you  are  an  angel.  Rest  easy,  your  love 
affairs  will  run  no  risk.  I  will  gloss  it  all  over — To 
your  health,  gentlemen!" 

He  emptied  the  glass  and  put  it  upon  the  table;  he 
then  smiled  and  waved  his  hand  at  his  auditors  with  true 
royal  courtesy;  but  his  mouth  remained  half  open  as  if 
his  lips  were  petrified,  his  eyes  grew  large  and  assumed 
a  haggard  expression;  the  hand  he  had  stretched  out 
fell  to  his  side;  a  second  more,  and  he  reeled  and  fell 
from  his  chair  as  if  he  had  had  a  stroke  of  apoplexy. 
[296] 


GERFAUT 

Gerfaut,  whose  eyes  had  not  left  him,  watched  these 
different  symptoms  with  unutterable  anxiety;  but  in 
spite  of  his  fright,  he  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  saw 
Marillac  mute  and  speechless. 

"It  is  singular,"  observed  the  notary,  as  he  aided  in 
removing  his  neighbor  from  the  table,  "that  glass  of 
water  had  more  effect  upon  him  than  four  or  five  bot- 
tles of  wine." 

"Georges,"  said  Gerfaut  to  one  of  the  servants,  in 
an  agitated  voice,  "open  his  bed  and  help  me  carry 
him  to  it;  Monsieur  de  Bergenheim,  I  suppose  there 
is  a  chemist  near  here,  if  I  should  need  any  medicine." 

The  greater  part  of  the  guests  arose  at  this  unex- 
pected incident,  and  some  of  them  hastened  to  Maril- 
lac's  side,  as  he  remained  motionless  in  his  chair. 
The  repeated  bathing  of  his  temples  with  cold  water 
and  the  holding  of  salts  to  his  nose  were  not  able  tc 
bring  him  to  consciousness. 

Instead  of  going  to  his  aid  with  the  others,  Bergen 
heim  profited  by  the  general  confusion  to  lean  over 
the  table.  He  plunged  his  finger  into  the  artist's  glass, 
in  which  a  part  of  the  water  remained,  and  then  touched 
his  tongue.  Only  the  notary  noticed  this  movement. 
Thinking  this  rather  strange,  he  seized  the  glass  in  his 
turn  and  swallowed  the  few  drops  that  it  contained. 

"Heavens!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice,  to  Bergen- 
heim, "I  am  not  surprised  that  the  bumper  asphyxiated 
him  on  the  spot.  Do  you  know,  Baron,  if  this  Mon- 
sieur de  Gerfaut  had  taken  anything  but  water  during 
the  evening,  I  should  say  that  he  was  the  drunker  of 
the  two;  or  that,  if  they  were  not  such  good  friends. 
[297] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

he  wished  to  poison  him  in  order  to  stop  his  talk. 
Did  you  notice  that  he  did  not  seem  pleased  to  hear 
this  story?" 

"Ah !  you,  too ! "  exclaimed  the  Baron  angrily, "  every- 
body will  know  it." 

"To  take  a  carafe  of  kirsch  for  clear  water!"  con- 
tinued the  notary,  without  paying  any  attention  to  the 
Baron's  agitation.  "The  devil!  the  safe  thing  to  do 
is  to  give  him  an  emetic  at  once;  this  poor  fellow  has 
enough  prussic  acid  in  his  stomach  to  poison  a  cow." 

"Who  is  talking  of  prussic  acid  and  poisoning?"  ex- 
claimed the  public  prosecutor,  running  with  an  un- 
steady step  from  one  extremity  of  the  table  to  the 
other,  "who  has  been  poisoned?  I  am  the  public 
prosecutor,  I  am  the  only  one  here  who  has  any  power 
to  start  an  investigation.  Have  they  had  an  autopsy? 
Where  did  they  find  it?  Buried  in  the  fields  or  the 
woods,  or  floating  on  the  river?" 

"You  lie!  there  is  no  dead  body  in  the  river!"  ex- 
claimed Bergenheim,  in  a  thundering  voice,  as  he  seized 
the  magistrate  by  the  collar  in  a  bewildered  way. 

The  magistrate  was  incapable  of  making  the  least 
resistance  when  held  by  such  a  vigorous  hand  and  he 
received  two  or  three  shakings.  Suddenly  the  Baron 
stopped,  ,and  struck  his  forehead  with  a  gesture  com- 
mon to  persons  who  feel  that  their  reason  has  given 
way  under  a  paroxysm  of  rage. 

"I  am  crazy,"  said  he,  with  much  emotion.     "Mon- 
sieur," he  added,  "I  am  very  sorry.    We  really  have  all 
taken  too  much  wine.     I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen. 
I  will  leave  you  a  moment — I  need  some  fresh  air." 
[298] 


GERFAUT 

He  hurriedly  left  the  room,  almost  running  against 
the  persons  who  were  carrying  Marillac  to  his  room. 
The  public  prosecutor,  whose  ideas  had  been  some- 
what mixed  before,  was  now  completely  muddled  by 
this  unheard-of  attack  upon  his  dignity,  and  fell  back 
exhausted  in  his  chair. 

"All  poor  drinkers!"  said  the  notary  to  Monsieur  de 
Gamier  who  was  left  alone  with  him,  for  the  prosecu- 
tor, half  suffocated  with  indignation  and  intoxication, 
could  no  longer  be  counted  as  one  of  them.  "Here 
they  are,  all  drunk,  from  just  a  few  glasses  of  wine." 

The  notary  shook  his  head  with  a  mysterious  air. 

"These  things,  though,  are  plain  enough  to  me," 
said  he  at  last;  "first,  this  Monsieur  Marillac  has  not 
a  very  strong  head  and  tells  pretty  tedious  stories  when 
drunk;  then  his  friend  has  a  way  of  taking  kirsch  for 
water  which  I  can  understand  only  in  extreme  cases; 
but  the  Baron  is  the  one  who  astonished  me  most. 
Did  you  notice  how  he  shook  our  friend  who  has  just 
fallen  on  the  floor?  As  to  the  Baron  pretending  that 
he  was  drunk  and  thus  excusing  himself,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve one  word  of  it;  he  drank  nothing  but  water. 
There  were  times  this  evening  when  he  appeared  very 
strange  indeed !  There  is  some  deviltry  underneath  all 
this;  Monsieur  de  Gamier,  rest  assured  there  is  some 
deviltry  underneath  it  all." 

"I  am  the  public  prosecutor — they  can  not  remove 
the  body  without  me,"  stammered  the  weak  voice  of 
the  magistrate,  who,  after  trying  in  vain  to  recover  his 
equilibrium,  lay  flat  upon  the  floor. 

[299] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  STRATAGEM 

NSTEAD  of  joining  the  persons  who 
were  carrying  Marillac  away,  Chris- 
tian went  into  the  garden  after  leav- 
ing the  dining-room,  in  quest  of  the 
fresh  air  which  he  gave  as  an  excuse 
for  leaving  his  guests.  In  fact,  he 
felt  oppressed  almost  to  suffocation 
by  the  emotions  he  had  undergone 
during  the  last  few  hours.  The  dissimulation  which 
prudence  made  a  necessity  and  honor  a  duty  had 
aggravated  the  suffering  by  protracted  concealment. 

For  some  time  Christian  walked  rapidly  among  the 
paths  and  trees  in  the  park.  Bathing  his  burning  brow 
in  the  cool  night  air,  he  sought  to  calm  the  secret  agita- 
tion and  the  boiling  blood  that  were  raging  within  him, 
in  the  midst  of  which  his  reason  struggled  and  fought 
like  a  ship  about  to  be  wrecked.  He  used  all  his 
strength  to  recover  his  self-possession,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  master  the  perils  and  troubles  which  surrounded  him 
with  a  calm  if  not  indifferent  eye;  in  one  word,  to  re- 
gain that  control  over  himself  that  he  had  lost  several 
times  during  the  supper.  His  efforts  were  not  in  vain. 
He  contemplated  his  situation  without  weakness,  exag- 
geration, or  anger,  as  if  it  concerned  another.  Two  facts 
[300] 


GERFAUT 

rose  foremost  before  him,  one  accomplished,  the  other 
uncertain.  On  one  side,  murder,  on  the  other,  adul- 
tery. No  human  power  could  remedy  the  first  or  pre- 
vent its  consequences;  he  accepted  it,  then,  but  turn  his 
mind  away  from  it  he  must,  in  the  presence  of  this 
greater  disaster.  So  far,  only  presumptions  existed 
against  Clemence — grave  ones,  to  be  sure,  if  one  added 
Lambernier's  revelations  to  Marillac's  strangely  indis- 
creet remarks.  It  was  his  first  duty  to  himself,  as  well 
as  to  her,  to  know  the  whole  truth;  if  innocent,  he 
would  beg  her  forgiveness;  if  guilty,  he  had  a  chastise- 
ment to  inflict. 

"It  is  an  abyss,"  thought  he,  "and  I  may  find  as 
much  blood  as  mud  at  the  bottom  of  it.  No  matter, 
I  will  descend  to  its  very  depths." 

When  he  returned  to  the  chateau,  his  face  had  re- 
sumed its  usual  calm  expression.  The  most  observing 
person  would  hardly  have  noticed  any  change  in  his 
looks.  The  dining-room  had  been  abandoned  at  last. 
The  victorious  and  the  vanquished  had  retired  to  their 
rooms.  First  of  all,  he  went  up  to  the  artist's  apart- 
ment, so  that  no  singularity  in  his  conduct  should 
attract  attention,  for,  as  master  of  the  house,  a  visit 
to  one  of  his  guests  who  had  fallen  dead,  or  nearly  so, 
at  his  own  table  was  a  positive  duty.  The  attentions 
lavished  upon  Marillac  by  his  friend  had  removed  the 
danger  which  might  have  resulted  from  his  imprudent 
excesses  in  drinking,  and  the  sort  of  poisoning  with 
which  he  had  crowned  the  whole.  He  lay  upon  his 
bed  in  the  same  position  in  which  he  had  first  been 
placed,  and  was  sleeping  that  heavy,  painful  sleep 
[301] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

which  serves  as  an  expiation  for  bacchic  excesses.  Ger- 
faut  was  seated  a  few  steps  from  him,  at  a  table,  writing; 
he  seemed  prepared  to  sit  up  all  night,  and  to  fulfill, 
with  the  devotion  of  a  friend,  the  duties  of  a  nurse. 

Octave  arose  at  sight  of  the  Baron,  his  face  having 
resumed  its  habitual  reserved  expression.  The  two 
men  greeted  each  other  with  equal  composure. 

"Is  he  sleeping?"  asked  Christian. 

"But  a  few  minutes  only,"  replied  the  latter;  "he 
is  all  right  now,  and  I  hope,"  Octave  added,  smilingly, 
"that  this  will  serve  as  a  lesson  to  you,  and  that  here- 
after you  will  put  some  limits  to  your  princely  hospital- 
ity. Your  table  is  a  regular  ambush." 

"Do  not  throw  stones  at  me,  I  pray,"  replied  the 
Baron,  with  an  appearance  of  equal  good-humor.  "If 
your  friend  wants  to  ask  an  explanation  of  anybody  it 
is  of  you,  fdr  you  took  some  kirsch  of  1765  for  water." 

"I  really  believe  that  I  was  the  drunker  of  the  two," 
interrupted  Octave,  with  a  vivacity  which  concealed  a 
certain  embarrassment;  "we  must  have  terribly  scan- 
dalized Monsieur  de  Camier,  who  has  but  a  poor  opin- 
ion of  Parisian  heads  and  stomachs." 

After  looking  for  a  moment  at  the  sleeping  artist, 
Christian  approached  the  table  where  Gerfaut  was 
seated,  and  threw  a  glance  over  the  latter's  writing. 

"You  are  still  at  work,  I  see?"  said  he,  as  his  eyes 
rested  upon  the  paper. 

"Just  now  I  am  following  the  modest  trade  of  copy- 
ist. These  are  some  verses  which  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil  asked  me  for — 

"Will  you  do  me  a  favor?  I  am  going  to  her  room 
[302] 


GERFAUT 

now;  give  me  these  verses  to  hand  to  her.  Since  the 
misfortune  that  befell  Constance,  she  has  been  terribly 
angry  with  me,  and  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  have  some 
reason  for  going  to  her  room." 

Octave  finished  the  two  or  three  lines  which  re- 
mained to  be  copied,  and  handed  the  sheet  to  Bergen- 
heim.  The  latter  looked  at  it  attentively,  then  care- 
fully folded  it  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"I  thank  you,  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  will  leave  you 
to  your  friendly  duties." 

There  was  something  so  solemn  in  the  calm  accent 
of  these  words,  and  the  polite  bow  which  accompanied 
them,  that  Gerfaut  felt  chilled,  though  not  alarmed, 
for  he  did  not  understand. 

When  he  reached  his  room,  Bergenheim  opened  the 
paper  which  Gerfaut  had  just  given  him  and  compared 
it  with  the  letter  he  had  received  from  Lambernier. 
The  suspicions  which  a  separate  examination  had 
aroused  were  confirmed  upon  comparing  the  two  let- 
ters; no  doubt  was  possible;  the  letter  and  the  poetry 
were  written  by  the  same  hand ! 

After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  Christian  went  to 
his  wife's  room. 

Clemence  was  seated  in  an  armchair,  near  the  fire- 
place, indulging  in  a  re  very.  Although  her  lover  was 
not  there,  she  was  still  under  the  charm  of  this  consum- 
ing as  well  as  intellectual  passion,  which  responded  to 
the  yearnings  of  her  heart,  the  delicacy  of  her  tastes, 
and  the  activity  of  her  imagination.  At  this  moment, 
she  was  happy  to  live;  there  was  not  a  sad  thought 
that  these  words,  "He  loves  me!"  could  not  efface. 
[303] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

The  noise  of  the  opening  door  aroused  her  from  her 
meditation.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  turned  her  head 
with  a  look  of  vexation,  but  instead  of  the  servant 
whom  she  was  ready  to  reprimand,  she  saw  her  hus- 
band. The  expression  of  impatience  imprinted  upon 
her  face  gave  way  to  one  of  fright.  She  arose  with  a 
movement  she  could  not  repress,  as  if  she  had  seen  a 
stranger,  and  stood  leaning  against  the  mantel  in  a 
constrained  attitude.  Nothing  in  Christian's  manner 
justified,  however,  the  fear  the  sight  of  him  seemed  to 
cause  his  wife.  He  advanced  with  a  tranquil  air,  and 
a  smile  that  he  had  forced  upon  his  lips. 

With  the  presence  of  mind  with  which  all  women 
seem  to  be  gifted,  Cle*mence  fell  back  into  her  chair, 
and,  assuming  a  languid,  suffering  tone,  mixed  with  an 
appearance  of  reproach,  she  said: 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  for  a  moment  in  order  to 
scold  you;  you  have  not  shown  your  usual  considera- 
tion to-night.  Did  you  not  think  that  the  noise  from 
the  dining-room  might  reach  as  far  as  here?" 

"Has  it  troubled  you?"  asked  Christian,  looking  at 
her  attentively. 

"Unless  one  had  a  head  of  cast-iron — It  seems  that 
these  gentlemen  have  abused  the  liberty  permitted  in 
the  country.  From  what  Justine  tells  me,  things  have 
taken  place  which  would  have  been  more  appropriate 
at  the  Femme-sans-Tete." 

"Are  you  suffering  very  much?" 

"A  frightful  neuralgia — I  only  wish  I  could  sleep." 

"I  was  wrong  not  to  have  thought  of  this.  You  will 
forgive  me,  will  you  not?" 

[304] 


GERFAUT 

Bergenheim  leaned  over  the  chair,  passed  his  arm 
around  the  young  woman's  shoulders,  and  pressed  his 
lips  to  her  forehead.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he 
was  playing  a  part  upon  the  marital  stage,  and  he 
watched  with  the  closest  attention  the  slightest  expres- 
sion of  his  wife's  face.  He  noticed  that  she  shivered, 
and  that  her  forehead  which  he  had  lightly  touched 
was  as  cold  as  marble. 

He  arose  and  took  several  turns  about  the  room, 
avoiding  even  a  glance  at  her,  for  the  aversion  which 
she  had  just  shown  toward  her  husband  seemed  to  him 
positive  proof  of  the  very  thing  he  dreaded,  and  he 
feared  he  should  not  be  able  to  contain  himself. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  she  asked,  as  she 
noticed  his  agitation. 

These  words  brought  the  Baron  to  his  senses,  and  he 
returned  to  her  side,  replying  in  a  careless  tone: 

"I  am  annoyed  for  a  very  simple  cause;  it  concerns 
your  aunt." 

"I  know.  She  is  furious  against  you  on  account  of 
the  double  misfortune  to  her  dog  and  coachman.  You 
will  admit  that,  as  far  as  Constance  is  concerned,  you 
are  guilty." 

"She  is  not  content  with  being  furious;  she  threatens 
a  complete  rupture.  Here,  read  this." 

He  handed  her  a  large  letter,  folded  lengthwise  and 
sealed  with  the  Corandeuil  crest. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  took  the  letter  and  read  its 
content?  aloud: 

"After  the  unheard-of  and  unqualifiable  events  of  this  day,  the 
resolution  which  I  have  formed  will  doubtless  not  surprise  you  in 

20  [  305  ] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

the  least,  Monsieur.  You  will  understand  that  I  can  not  and  will 
not  remain  longer  in  a  house  where  the  lives  of  my  servants  and 
other  creatures  which  are  dear  to  me  may  be  exposed  to  the  most 
deplorable,  wilful  injury.  I  have  seen  for  some  time,  although  I 
have  tried  to  close  my  eyes  to  the  light  of  truth,  the  plots  that  were 
hatched  daily  against  all  who  wore  the  Corandeuil  livery.  I  sup- 
posed that  I  should  not  be  obliged  to  put  an  end  to  this  highly 
unpleasant  matter  myself,  but  that  you  would  undertake  this 
charge.  It  seems,  however,  that  respect  and  regard  for  women 
do  not  form  part  of  a  gentleman's  duties  nowadays.  I  shall  there- 
fore be  obliged  to  make  up  myself  for  the  absence  of  such  atten- 
tions, and  watch  over  the  safety  of  the  persons  and  other  creatures 
that  belong  to  me.  I  shall  leave  for  Paris  to-morrow.  I  hope  that 
Constance's  condition  will  permit  her  to  endure  the  journey,  but 
Baptiste's  wound  is  too  serious  for  me  to  dare  to  expose  him.  I 
am  compelled,  although  with  deep  regret,  to  leave  him  here  until 
he  is  able  to  travel,  trusting  him  to  the  kind  mercies  of  my  niece. 
"Receive,  Monsieur,  with  my  adieux,  my  thanks  for  your 
courteous  hospitality. 

"YOLANDE  DE  CORANDEUIL." 

"Your  aunt  abuses  the  privileges  of  being  foolish," 
said  the  Baron,  when  his  wife  had  finished  reading  the 
letter;  "she  deserts  the  battlefield  and  leaves  behind 
her  wounded." 

"But  I  saw  her,  not  two  hours  ago,  and,  although 
she  was  very  angry,  she  did  not  say  one  word  of  this 
departure." 

"  Jean  handed  me  this  letter  but  a  moment  ago,  clad 
in  full  livery,  and  with  the  importance  of  an  ambassa- 
dor who  demands  his  passports.  You  must  go  and 
talk  with  her,  dear,  and  use  all  your  eloquence  to  make 
her  change  her  mind." 

"I  will  go  at  once,"  said  Cle*mence,  rising. 
[306] 


GERFAUT 

"You  know  that  your  aunt  is  rather  obstinate  when 
she  takes  a  notion  into  her  head.  If  she  persists  in 
this,  tell  her,  hi  order  to  decide  her  to  remain,  that 
I  am  obliged  to  go  to  Epinal  with  Monsieur  de  Gamier 
to-morrow  morning,  on  account  of  the  sale  of  some 
wood-land,  and  that  I  shall  be  absent  three  days  at 
least.  You  understand  that  it  will  be  difficult  for  your 
aunt  to  leave  you  alone  during  my  absence,  on  account 
of  these  gentlemen." 

"Certainly,  that  could  not  be,"  said  she,  quickly. 

"I  do  not  see,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  anything 
improper  about  it,"  said  the  Baron,  trying  to  smile; 
"but  we  must  obey  the  proprieties.  You  are  too 
young  and  too  pretty  a  mistress  of  the  house  to  pass 
for  a  chaperon,  and  Aline,  instead  of  being  a  help, 
would  be  one  inconvenience  the  more.  So  your  aunt 
must  stay  here  until  my  return." 

"And  by  that  time  Constance  and  Baptiste  will  be 
both  cured  and  her  anger  will  have  passed  away.  You 
did  not  tell  me  about  this  trip  to  Epinal  nor  the  selling 
of  the  wood-land." 

"Go  to  your  aunt's  room  before  she  retires  to  bed," 
replied  Bergenheim,  without  paying  any  attention  to 
this  remark,  and  seating  himself  in  the  armchair;  "I 
will  wait  for  you  here.  We  leave  to-morrow  morning 
early,  and  I  wish  to  know  to-night  what  to  depend 
upon." 

As  soon  as  Madame  de  Bergenheim  had  left  the 

room,  Christian  arose  and  ran,  rather  than  walked,  to 

the  space  between  the  two  windows,  and  sought  the 

button  in  the  woodwork  of  which  Lambernier  had  told 

[307] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

him.  He  soon  found  it,  and  upon  his  first  pressure  the 
spring  worked  and  the  panel  flew  open.  The  casket 
was  upon  the  shelf;  he  took  it  and  carefully  examined 
the  letters  which  it  contained.  The  greater  part  of 
them  resembled  in  form  the  one  that  he  possessed; 
some  of  them  were  in  envelopes  directed  to  Madame 
de  Bergenheim  and  bore  Gerfaut's  crest.  There  was 
no  doubt  about  the  identity  of  the  handwriting;  if  the 
Baron  had  had  any,  these  proofs  were  enough.  After 
glancing  rapidly  over  a  few  of  the  notes,  he  replaced 
them  in  the  casket  and  returned  the  latter  to  the  shelf 
where  he  had  found  it.  He  then  carefully  closed  the 
little  door  and  reseated  himself  beside  the  fireplace. 

When  Cle*mence  returned,  her  husband  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  reading  one  of  the  books  which  he  had  found 
upon  her  table,  while  he  mechanically  played  with  a 
little  bronze  cup  that  his  wife  used  to  drop  her  rings 
in  when  she  removed  them. 

"I  have  won  my  case,"  said  the  Baroness,  in  a  gay 
tone;  "my  aunt  saw  clearly  the  logic  of  the  reasons 
which  I  gave  her,  and  she  defers  her  departure  until 
your  return." 

Christian  made  no  reply. 

"That  means  that  she  will  not  go  at  all,  for  her 
anger  will  have  time  to  cool  off  in  three  days;  at  heart 
she  is  really  kind! — How  long  is  it  since  you  have 
known  English?"  she  asked,  as  she  noticed  that  her 
husband's  attention  seemed  to  be  fixed  upon  a  volume 
of  Lord  Byron's  poems. 

Bergenheim  threw  the  book  on  the  table,  raised  his 
head  and  gazed  calmly  at  his  wife.  In  spite  of  all  his 
[308] 


GERFAUT 

efforts,  his  face  had  assumed  an  expression  which 
would  have  frightened  her  if  she  had  noticed  it,  but 
her  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  cup  which  he  was 
twisting  in  his  hand  as  if  it  were  made  of  clay. 

"Mon  Dieu  !  Christian,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you?  What  are  you  doing  to  my  poor  cup?"  she 
asked,  with  surprise  mingled  with  a  little  of  that  fright 
which  is  so  prompt  to  be  aroused  if  one  feels  not  above 
reproach. 

He  arose  and  put  the  misshapen  bronze  upon  the 
table. 

"I  do  not  know  what  ails  me  to-night,"  said  he, 
"my  nerves  are  unstrung.  I  will  leave  you,  for  I  need 
rest  myself.  I  shall  start  to-morrow  morning  before 
you  are  up,  and  I  shall  return  Wednesday." 

"Not  any  later,  I  hope,"  she  said,  with  that  soft, 
sweet  voice,  from  which,  in  such  circumstances,  very 
few  women  have  the  loyalty  to  abstain. 

He  went  out  without  replying,  for  he  feared  he  might 
be  no  longer  master  of  himself;  he  felt,  when  offered  this 
hypocritical,  almost  criminal,  caress,  as  if  he  would  like 
to  end  it  all  by  killing  her  on  the  spot. 


[309] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  CRISIS 

rENTY-FOUR  hours  had  passed. 
The  Baron  had  departed  early  in  the 
morning,  and  so  had  all  his  guests, 
with  the  exception  of  Gerfaut  and 
the  artist.  The  day  passed  slowly 
and  tediously.  Aline  had  been  vexed, 
somewhat  estranged  from  her  sister- 
in-law  since  their  conversation  in  the 
little  parlor.  '  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  was  en- 
tirely occupied  in  restoring  her  poodle  to  health. 

Marillac,  who  had  been  drinking  tea  ever  since  ris- 
ing, dared  not  present  his  face,  which  showed  the 
effects  of  his  debauch  of  the  night  before,  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  whose  exacting  and  aristocratic 
austerity  he  very  much  feared.  He  pretended  to  be 
ill,  in  order  to  delay  the  moment  when  he  should  be 
forced  to  make  his  appearance.  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim  did  not  leave  her  aunt,  and  thus  avoided  being 
alone  with  Octave — who,  on  account  of  these  different 
complications,  might  have  spent  a  continual  tete-a-tete 
with  her  had  she  been  so  inclined.  Christian's  absence, 
instead  of  being  a  signal  of  deliverance  for  the  lovers, 
seemed  to  have  created  a  new  misunderstanding,  for 
Clemence  felt  that  it  would  be  a  mean  action  to  abuse 


GERFAUT 

the  liberty  her  husband's  departure  gave  her.  She  was 
thus  very  reserved  during  the  day,  when  she  felt  that 
there  were  more  facilities  for  yielding,  but,  in  the  even- 
ing, when  alone  in  her  apartment,  this  fictitious  prudery 
disappeared.  She  spent  the  entire  evening  lying  upon 
the  divan  in  the  little  boudoir,  dreaming  of  Octave, 
talking  to  him  as  if  he  could  reply,  putting  into  practice 
again  that  capitulation  of  conscience  which  permits  our 
mind  to  wander  on  the  brink  of  guilt,  provided  actions 
are  strictly  correct. 

After  a  while  this  exaltation  fell  by  degrees.  When 
struggling  earnestly,  she  had  regarded  Octave  as  an 
enemy;  but,  since  she  had  gone  to  him  as  one  passes 
over  to  the  enemy,  and,  in  her  heart,  had  taken  part 
with  the  lover  against  the  husband,  her  courage  failed 
her  as  she  thought  of  this,  and  she  fell,  weak,  guilty, 
and  vanquished  before  the  combat. 

When  she  had  played  with  her  passion,  she  had 
given  Christian  little  thought;  she  had  felt  it  childish 
to  bring  her  husband  into  an  amusement  that  she  be- 
lieved perfectly  harmless;  then,  when  she  wished  to 
break  her  plaything,  and  found  it  made  of  iron  and 
turning  more  and  more  into  a  tyrannical  yoke,  she 
called  to  her  aid  the  conjugal  divinities,  but  in  too 
faint  a  voice  to  be  heard.  Now  the  situation  had 
changed  again.  Christian  was  no  longer  the  insignifi- 
cant ally  that  the  virtuous  wife  had  condemned,  through 
self-conceit,  to  ignorant  neutrality;  he  was  the  hus- 
band, in  the  hostile  and  fearful  acceptation  of  the 
word.  This  man  whom  she  had  wronged  would  al- 
ways have  law  on  his  side. 

[3"] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Religion  sometimes  takes  pity  on  a  wayward  wife, 
but  society  is  always  ready  to  condemn  her.  She  was 
his  own,  fastened  to  him  by  indissoluble  bonds.  He 
had  marked  her  with  his  name  like  a  thing  of  his  own ; 
he  held  the  threads  of  her  life  in  his  hands;  he  was 
the  dispenser  of  her  fortune,  the  judge  of  her  actions, 
and  the  master  of  their  fireside.  She  had  no  dignity 
except  through  him.  If  he  should  withdraw  his  sup- 
port for  a  single  day,  she  would  fall  from  her  position 
without  any  human  power  being  able  to  rescue  her. 
Society  closes  its  doors  to  the  outcast  wife,  and  adds 
to  the  husband's  sentence  another  penalty  still  more 
scathing. 

Having  now  fallen  from  the  sphere  of  illusion  to 
that  of  reality,  Madame  de  Bergenheim  was  wounded 
at  every  step.  A  bitter  feeling  of  discouragement  over- 
whelmed her,  as  she  thought  of  the  impossibility  of 
happiness  to  which  a  deplorable  fatality  condemned 
her.  Marriage  and  love  struggled  for  existence,  both 
powerless  to  conquer,  and  qualified  only  to  cause  each 
other's  death.  Marriage  made  love  a  crime;  love 
made  marriage  a  torture.  She  could  only  choose  be- 
tween two  abysses:  shame  in  her  love,  despair  in  her 
virtue. 

The  hours  passed  rapidly  in  these  sad  and  gloomy 
meditations;  the  clock  marked  the  hour  of  midnight. 
Madame  de  Bergenheim  thought  it  time  to  try  to  sleep; 
but,  instead  of  ringing  for  her  maid,  she  decided  to 
go  to  the  library  herself  and  get  a  book,  thinking  that 
perhaps  it  might  aid  her  in  going  to  sleep.  As  she 
opened  the  door  leading  into  the  closet  adjoining  her 


GERFAUT 

parlor,  she  saw  by  the  light  of  the  candle  which  she 
held  in  her  hand  something  which  shone  like  a  precious 
stone  lying  upon  the  floor.  At  first  she  thought  it 
might  be  one  of  her  rings,  but  as  she  stooped  to  pick 
it  up  she  saw  her  error.  It  was  a  ruby  pin  mounted 
in  enamelled  gold.  She  recognized  it,  at  the  very  first 
glance,  as  belonging  to  M.  de  Gerfaut. 

She  picked  up  the  pin  and  returned  to  the  parlor 
She  exhausted  in  imagination  a  thousand  conjectures 
in  order  to  explain  the  presence  of  this  object  in  such 
a  place.  Octave  must  have  entered  it  or  he  could  not 
have  left  this  sign  of  his  presence;  it  meant  that  he 
could  enter  her  room  at  his  will;  what  he  had  done 
once,  he  could  certainly  do  again!  The  terror  which 
this  thought  gave  her  dissipated  like  a  dash  of  cold 
water  all  her  former  intoxicating  thoughts;  for,  like 
the  majority  of  women,  she  had  more  courage  in  theory 
than  in  action.  A  moment  before,  she  had  invoked 
Octave's  image  and  seated  it  lovingly  by  her  side. 

When  she  believed  this  realization  possible,  all  she 
thought  of  was  to  prevent  it.  She  was  sure  that  her 
lover  never  had  entered  the  closet  through  the  parlor, 
as  he  never  had  been  in  this  part  of  the  house  farther 
than  the  little  drawing-room.  Suddenly  a  thought  of 
the  little  corridor  door  struck  her;  she  remembered 
that  this  door  was  not  usually  locked  because  the  one 
from  the  library  was  always  closed;  she  knew  that 
Octave  had  a  key  to  the  latter,  and  she  readily  under- 
stood how  he  had  reached  her  apartment.  Mustering 
up  all  her  courage  through  excessive  fear,  she  returned 
to  the  closet,  hurried  down  the  stairs,  and  pushed  the 
[313] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

bolt.  She  then  returned  to  the  parlor  and  fell  upon 
the  divan,  completely  exhausted  by  her  expedition. 

Little  by  little  her  emotion  passed  away.  Her  fright 
appeared  childish  to  her,  as  soon  as  she  believed  her- 
self sheltered  from  danger;  she  promised  herself  to 
give  Octave  a  good  scolding  the  next  morning;  then 
she  renounced  this  little  pleasure,  when  she  remem- 
bered that  it  would  force  her  to  admit  the  discovery  of 
the  pin,  and  of  course  to  return  it  to  him,  for  she  had 
resolved  to  keep  it.  She  had  always  had  a  particular 
fancy  for  this  pin,  but  she  would  never  have  dared  to 
ask  him  for  it,  and  besides,  it  was  the  fact  that  Octave 
usually  wore  it  that  made  it  of  infinite  value  to  her. 
The  desire  to  appropriate  it  was  irresistible,  since 
chance  had  thrown  it  into  her  hands.  She  tied  a  black 
satin  ribbon  about  her  white  neck,  and  pinned  it  with 
the  precious  ruby.  After  kissing  it  as  devotedly  as  if  it 
were  a  relic,  she  ran  to  her  mirror  to  judge  of  the  effect 
of  the  theft. 

"How  pretty,  and  how  I  love  it!"  said  she;  "but 
how  can  I  wear  it  so  that  he  will  not  see  it?" 

Before  she  could  solve  this  problem,  she  heard  a 
slight  noise,  which  petrified  her  as  she  stood  before 
her  glass. 

"It  is  he!"  she  thought;  after  standing  for  a  moment 
half  stunned,  she  dragged  herself  as  far  as  the  stairs, 
and  leaning  over,  listened  with  fear  and  trembling. 
At  first  she  could  hear  nothing  but  the  beating  of  her 
heart;  then  she  heard  the  other  noise  again,  and  more 
distinctly.  Somebody  was  turning  the  handle  of  the 
door,  trying  to  open  it.  The  unexpected  obstacle  of  the 


GERFAUT 

bolt  doubtless  exasperated  the  would-be  visitor,  for  the 
door  was  shaken  and  pushed  with  a  violence  which 
threatened  to  break  the  lock  or  push  down  the  door. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim's  first  thought  was  to  run 
into  her  chamber  and  lock  the  door  behind  her;  the 
second  showed  her  the  danger  that  might  result  if  the 
slightest  noise  should  reach  other  ears.  Not  a  moment 
was  to  be  lost  in  hesitation.  The  young  woman  quickly 
descended  the  stairs  and  drew  the  bolt.  The  door 
opened  softly  and  closed  with  the  same  precaution. 
The  lamp  from  the  parlor  threw  a  feeble  light  upon  the 
upper  steps  of  the  staircase,  but  the  lower  ones  were 
in  complete  darkness.  It  was  with  her  heart  rather 
than  her  eyes  that  she  recognized  Octave;  he  could 
distinguish  Madame  de  Bergenheim  only  in  an  indis- 
tinct way  by  her  white  dress,  which  was  faintly  out- 
lined in  the  darkness;  she  stood  before  him  silent  and 
trembling  with  emotion,  for  she  had  not  yet  thought 
of  a  speech  that  would  send  him  away. 

He  also  felt  the  embarrassment  usual  in  any  one 
guilty  of  so  foolhardy  an  action.  He  had  expected  to 
surprise  Clemence,  and  he  found  her  upon  her  guard; 
the  thought  of  the  disloyal  part  he  was  playing  at  this 
moment  made  the  blood  mount  to  his  cheeks  and  took 
away,  for  the  time  being,  his  ordinary  assurance.  He 
sought  in  vain  for  a  speech  which  might  first  justify 
him  and  then  conquer  her.  He  had  recourse  to  a 
method  often  employed  in  the  absence  of  eloquence. 
He  fell  on  his  knees  before  the  young  woman  and  seized 
her  hands;  it  seemed  as  if  the  violence  of  his  emotions 
rendered  him  incapable  of  expressing  himself  except 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

by  silent  adoration.  As  she  felt  his  hands  touch  hers, 
Cle*mence  drew  back  and  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"You  disgust  me!" 

"Disgust!"  he  repeated,  drawing  himself  up  to  his 
full  height. 

"Yes,  and  that  is  not  enough,"  she  continued,  in- 
dignantly, "I  ought  to  say  scorn  instead  of  disgust. 
You  deceived  me  when  you  said  you  loved  me — you 
infamously  deceived  me!" 

"But  I  adore  you!"  he  exclaimed,  with  vehemence; 
"what  proof  do  you  wish  of  my  love?" 

"Go!  go  away  at  once!  A  proof,  did  you  say?  I 
will  accept  only  one:  go,  I  order  it,  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Instead  of  obeying  her,  he  seized  her  in  his  arms  in 
spite  of  her  resistance. 

"Anything  but  that,"  he  said;  "order  me  to  kill  my- 
self at  your  feet,  I  will  do  it,  but  I  will  not  go." 

She  tried  for  a  moment  to  disengage  herself,  but 
although  she  used  all  her  strength,  she  was  unable  to 
do  so. 

"Oh,  you  are  without  pity,"  she  said,  feebly,  "but  I 
abhor  you;  rather,  a  thousand  times  rather,  kill  me!" 

Gerfaut  was  almost  frightened  by  the  agonized  ac- 
cent in  which  she  spoke  these  words;  he  released  her, 
but  as  he  removed  his  arms,  she  reeled  and  he  was 
obliged  to  support  her. 

"Why  do  you  persecute  me,  then?"  she  murmured, 
as  she  fell  in  a  faint  upon  her  lover's  breast. 

He  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  mounted  the  nar- 
row stairs  with  difficulty.  Carrying  her  into  the  parlor, 
[316] 


GERFAUT 

he  placed  her  upon  the  divan.  She  had  completely 
lost  consciousness;  one  would  have  believed  her  dead 
from  the  pallor  of  her  face,  were  it  not  for  a  slight 
trembling  which  agitated  her  form  every  few  seconds 
and  announced  a  nervous  attack.  The  most  expert  of 
lady's  maids  could  not  have  removed  the  little  ribbon 
from  her  neck,  which  seemed  to  trouble  her  respiration, 
more  adroitly  than  did  Octave.  In  spite  of  his  anxiety, 
he  could  not  repress  a  smile  as  he  recognized  the  pin 
which  he  hardly  expected  to  find  upon  Clemence's 
neck,  considering  the  hostile  way  in  which  she  had 
greeted  him.  He  knelt  before  her  and  bathed  her 
temples  with  cold  water,  making  her  also  inhale  some 
salts  which  he  found  upon  the  toilet  table  in  the  next 
room.  Little  by  little,  these  attentions  produced  an 
effect;  the  nervous  convulsion  became  less  frequent 
and  a  slight  flush  suffused  her  pale  cheeks.  She 
opened  her  eyes  and  then  closed  them,  as  if  the  light 
troubled  them;  then,  extending  her  arms,  she  passed 
them  about  Octave's  neck  as  he  leaned  over  her;  she 
remained  thus  for  some  time,  breathing  quietly  and  to 
all  appearances  sleeping.  Suddenly  she  said: 

"You  will  give  me  your  pin,  will  you  not?" 

"Is  not  all  that  I  have  yours?"  he  replied,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Mine!"  she  continued,  in  a  feebly  loving  voice; 
"tell  me  again  that  you  belong  to  me,  to  me  alone, 
Octave!" 

"You  do  not  send  me  away  any  longer,  then?  you 
like  me  to  be  near  you?"  he  said,  with  a  happy  smile, 
as  he  kissed  the  young  woman's  brow. 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Oh!  stay,  I  beg  of  you!  stay  with  me  forever!" 

She  folded  her  arms  more  tightly  around  him,  as  if 
she  feared  he  might  leave  her.  Suddenly  she  sat  up, 
opened  her  eyes,  and  gazed  about  her  in  silent  aston- 
ishment. 

"What  has  happened?"  said  she,  "and  how  is  it  that 
you  are  here  ?  Ah !  this  is  dreadful  indeed ;  you  have 
cruelly  punished  me  for  my  weakness." 

This  sudden  severity  after  her  delicious  abandon, 
changed  Octave's  pleasure  into  angry  vexation. 

"You  are  the  one,"  he  replied,  "who  are  cruel! 
Why  allow  me  so  much  bliss,  if  you  intended  to  take 
it  away  from  me  so  soon?  Since  you  love  me  only  in 
your  dreams,  I  beg  of  you  to  go  to  sleep  again  and 
never  awaken.  I  will  stay  near  you.  Your  words 
were  so  sweet,  but  a  moment  ago,  and  now  you  deny 
them!" 

"What  did  I  say?"  she  asked,  with  hesitation,  a  deep 
blush  suffusing  her  face  and  neck. 

These  symptoms,  which  he  considered  a  bad  augury, 
increased  Octave's  irritation.  He  arose  and  said  in  a 
bitter  tone: 

"Fear  nothing!  I  will  not  abuse  the  words  which 
have  escaped  you,  however  flattering  or  charming  they 
may  have  been;  they  told  me  that  you  loved  me.  I 
do  not  believe  it  any  longer;  you  are  agitated,  I  can 
see;  but  it  is  from  fear  and  not  love." 

Cle*mence  drew  herself  up  upon  the  divan,  crossed 
her  arms  over  her  breast  and  gazed  at  him  for  a  few 
moments  in  silence. 

"Do  you  believe  these  two  sentiments  incompati- 
[318] 


GERFAUT 

ble?"  she  asked  at  last;  "you  are  the  only  one  whom  I 
fear.     Others  would  not  complain." 

There  was  such  irresistible  charm  in  her  voice  and 
glance  that  Gerfaut's  ill-humor  melted  away  like  ice 
in  the  sun's  rays.  He  fell  upon  his  knees  before  the 
divan,  and  tried  to  pass  her  arms  about  his  neck  as 
before;  but  instead  of  lending  herself  to  this  project, 
she  attempted  to  rise. 

"I  am  so  happy  at  your  feet,"  he  said,  gently  prevent- 
ing her.  ' '  Everybody  else  can  sit  beside  you ;  I  only  have 
the  right  to  kneel.  Do  not  take  this  right  away  from  me." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  extricated  one  of  her  hands, 
and,  raising  her  finger  with  a  threatening  gesture,  she 
said: 

"Think  a  little  less  of  your  rights,  and  more  of  your 
duties.  I  advise  you  to  obey  me  and  to  profit  by  my 
kindness,  which  allows  you  to  sit  by  my  side  for  a 
moment.  Think  that  I  might  be  more  severe,  and 
that  if  I  treated  you  as  you  merited — if  I  told  you  to 
go  away,  would  you  obey  me?" 

Gerfaut  hesitated  a  moment  and  looked  at  her  sup- 
plicatingly. 

"I  would  obey,"  said  he;  "but  would  you  have  the 
courage  to  order  it?" 

"I  allow  you  to  remain  until  just  half  past  twelve," 
said  she,  as  she  glanced  at  the  clock,  which  she  could 
see  through  the  half-open  door.  Gerfaut  followed  her 
glance,  and  saw  that  she  accorded  him  only  a  quarter 
of  an  hour:  but  he  was  too  clever  to  make  any  obser- 
vation. He  knew  that  the  second  quarter  of  an  hour 
is  always  less  difficult  to  obtain  than  the  first. 
[319] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

said  she,  "that  you  have  thought  me 
capricious  to-day;  you  must  pardon  me,  it  is  a  family 
fault.  You  know  the  saying:  Caprice  de  Coran- 
deuil?" 

"I  wish  it  to  be  said:  Amour  de  Gerfaut,"  said  he, 
tenderly. 

"You  are  right  to  be  amiable  and  say  pleasant 
things  to  me,  for  I  need  them  badly  to-night.  I  am 
sad  and  weary;  the  darkest  visions  come  before  my 
mind.  I  think  it  is  the  storm  which  makes  me  feel 
so.  How  doleful  this  thunder  is!  It  seems  to  me  like 
an  omen  of  misfortune." 

"It  is  only  the  fancy  of  your  vivid  imagination.  If 
you  exerted  the  same  will  to  be  happy  that  you  do 
to  imagine  troubles,  our  life  would  be  perfect.  What 
matters  the  storm?  and  even  if  you  do  see  an  omen 
in  it,  what  is  there  so  very  terrible  ?  Clouds  are  vapor, 
thunder  is  a  sound,  both  are  equally  ephemeral;  only 
the  blue  sky,  which  they  can  obscure  but  for  a  mo- 
ment, is  eternal." 

"Did  you  not  hear  something  just  now?"  asked  Ma- 
dame de  Bergenheim,  as  she  gave  a  sudden  start  and 
listened  eagerly. 

"Nothing.    What  did  you  think  it  was?" 

"I  feared  it  might  be  Justine  who  had  taken  it  into 
her  head  to  come  down  stairs;  she  is  so  tiresome  in 
her  attentions — 

She  arose  and  went  to  look  in  her  chamber,  which 
she  carefully  locked ;  a  moment  later,  she  returned  and 
seated  herself  again  upon  the  divan. 

"Justine  is  sleeping  by  this  time,"  said  Octave;  "I 
[320] 


GERFAUT 

should  not  have  ventured  if  I  had  not  seen  that  her 
light  was  out." 

Clemence  took  his  hand  and  placed  it  over  her  heart. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  fright- 
tened,  will  you  believe  me?" 

"Poor  dear!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  felt  her  heart 
throbbing  violently. 

"You  are  the  one  who  causes  me  these  palpitations 
for  the  slightest  thing.  I  know  that  we  do  not  run 
any  danger,  that  everybody  is  in  his  own  room  by  this 
time,  and  yet,  somehow,  I  feel  terribly  frightened. 
There  are  women,  so  they  say,  who  get  used  to  this 
torture,  and  end  by  being  guilty  and  tranquil  at  the 
same  time.  It  is  an  unworthy  thought,  but  I'll  con- 
fess that,  sometimes,  when  I  suffer  so,  I  wish  I  were 
like  them.  But  it  is  impossible;  I  was  not  made  for 
wrong-doing.  You  can  not  understand  this,  you  are 
a  man;  you  love  boldly,  you  indulge  in  every  thought 
that  seems  sweet  to  you  without  being  troubled  by  re- 
morse. And  then,  when  you  suffer,  your  anguish  at 
least  belongs  to  you,  nobody  has  any  right  to  ask  you 
what  is  the  matter.  But  I,  my  tears  even  are  not  my 
own ;  I  have  often  shed  them  on  your  account — I  must 
hide  them,  for  he  has  a  right  to  ask:  'Why  do  you 
weep?'  And  what  can  I  reply?" 

She  turned  away  her  head  to  conceal  the  tears  which 
she  could  not  restrain;  he  saw  them,  and,  leaning  over 
her,  he  kissed  them  away. 

"Your  tears  are  mine!"  he  exclaimed,  passionately; 
"but  do  not  distress  me  by  telling  me  that  our  love 
makes  you  unhappy." 

21  [321] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Unhappy!  oh,  yes!  very  unhappy!  and  yet  I  would 
not  change  this  sorrow  for  the  richest  joys  of  others. 
This  unhappiness  is  my  treasure!  To  be  loved  by 
you !  To  think  that  there  was  a  time  when  our  love 
might  have  been  legitimate!  What  fatality  weighs 
upon  us,  Octave?  Why  did  we  know  each  other  too 
late?  I  often  dream  a  beautiful  dream — a  dream  of 
freedom." 

•''You  are  free  if  you  love  me — It  is  the  rain  against 
the  windows,"  said  he,  seeing  Madame  de  Bergenheim 
anxiously  listening  again.  They  kept  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  could  hear  nothing  except  the  monotonous 
whistling  of  the  storm. 

"To  be  loved  by  you  and  not  to  blush!"  said  she,  as 
she  gazed  at  him  lovingly.  "To  be  together  always, 
without  fearing  that  a  stroke  of  lightning  might  sep- 
arate us!  to  give  you  my  heart  and  still  be  worthy  to 
pray!  it  would  be  one  of  those  heavenly  delights  that 
one  grasps  only  in  dreams — 

"Oh!  dream  when  I  shall  be  far  from  you;  but, 
when  I  am  at  your  feet,  when  our  hearts  beat  only  for 
each  other,  do  not  evoke,  lest  you  destroy  our  present 
happiness,  that  which  is  beyond  our  power.  Do  you 
think  there  are  bonds  which  can  more  strongly  unite 
us  ?  Am  I  not  yours  ?  And  you,  yourself,  who  speak 
of  the  gift  of  your  heart,  have  you  not  given  it  to  me 
entirely?" 

"Oh!  yes,  entirely!    And  it  is  but  right,  since  I  owe 

it  to  you.     I  did  not  understand  life  until  the  day  I 

received  it  from  your  eyes;   since  that  minute  I  have 

lived,  and  I  can  die.    I  love  you!    I  fail  to  find  words 

[322] 


GERFAUT 

to  tell  you  one-tenth  of  what  my  heart  contains,  but  I 
love  you " 

He  received  her  in  his  arms,  where  she  took  refuge 
so  as  to  conceal  her  face  after  these  words.  She  re- 
mained thus  for  an  instant,  then  arose  with  a  start, 
seized  Octave's  hands  and  pressed  them  in  a  convul- 
sive manner,  saying  in  a  voice  as  weak  as  a  dying 
woman's: 

"I  am  lost!" 

He  instinctively  followed  Clemence's  gaze,  which 
was  fastened  upon  the  glass  door.  An  almost  imper- 
ceptible movement  of  the  muslin  curtain  was  evident. 
At  the  same  moment,  there  was  a  slight  noise,  a  step 
upon  the  carpet,  the  turning  of  the  handle  of  the  door, 
and  it  was  silently  opened  as  if  by  a  ghost. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  AGREEMENT 

fADAME  DE  BERGENHEIM  tried 
to  rise,  but  her  strength  failed  her, 
she    fell    on    her    knees,    and    then 
dropped    at    her    lover's    feet.     The 
latter  leaped   from   the  divan  with- 
out trying  to  assist  her,  stepped  over 
the  body  stretched  before  him,  and 
drew  his  poniard  out  of  his  pocket. 
Christian  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  door  silent 
and  motionless. 

There  was  a  moment  of  terrible  silence.  Only  the 
eyes  of  the  two  men  spoke;  those  of  the  husband 
were  fixed,  dull,  and  implacable;  those  of  the  lover 
sparkled  with  the  audacity  of  despair.  After  a  mo- 
ment of  mutual  fascination,  the  Baron  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  enter. 

"One  step  more  and  you  are  a  dead  man!"  ex- 
claimed Gerfaut,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  clutched  the 
handle  of  his  poniard. 

Christian  extended  his  hand,  replying  to  this  threat 
only  by  a  look;  but  such  an  imperative  one  that  the 
thrust  of  a  lance  would  not  have  been  as  fearful  to 
the  lover.  Octave  put  his  poniard  in  its  sheath, 
ashamed  of  his  emotion  in  the  presence  of  such  calm, 
and  imitated  his  enemy's  scornful  attitude. 
[524] 


GERFAUT 

"Come,  Monsieur,"  said  the  latter,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  he  took  a  step  backward. 

Instead  of  following  his  example,  Gerfaut  cast  a 
glance  upon  Clemence.  She  had  fallen  in  such  a 
dead  faint  that  he  sought  in  vain  for  her  breath.  He 
leaned  over  her,  with  an  irresistible  feeling  of  pity  and 
love ;  but  just  as  he  was  about  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
and  place  her  upon  the  divan,  Bergenheim's  hand 
stopped  him.  If  there  is  a  being  on  earth  to  whom 
one  owes  regard  and  respect,  it  is  the  one  whom  our 
own  wrong  has  rendered  our  enemy.  Octave  arose, 
and  said,  in  a  grave,  resigned  voice: 

"I  am  at  your  orders,  Monsieur." 

Christian  pointed  to  the  door,  as  if  to  invite  him  to 
pass  out  first,  thus  preserving,  with  his  extraordinary 
composure,  the  politeness  which  a  good  education 
makes  an  indelible  habit,  but  which  at  this  moment 
was  more  frightful  to  behold  than  the  most  furious  out- 
burst of  temper.  Gerfaut  glanced  at  Clemence  again, 
and  said,  as  he  pointed  to  her: 

"Shall  you  leave  her  without  any  aid  in  this  condi- 
tion? It  is  cruel." 

"It  is  not  from  cruelty,  but  out  of  pity,"  re- 
plied the  Baron,  coldly;  "she  will  awake  only  too 
soon." 

Octave's  heart  was  intensely  oppressed,  but  he  man- 
aged to  conceal  his  emotion.  He  hesitated  no  longer 
and  stepped  out.  The  husband  followed,  without  giv- 
ing a  glance  at  the  poor  woman  whose  own  words  had 
condemned  her  so  inexorably.  And  so  she  was  left 
alone  in  this  pretty  boudoir  as  if  in  a  tomb. 
[325] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

The  two  men  descended  the  stairs  leading  from  the 
little  closet.  At  the  library  door  they  found  them- 
selves in  absolute  obscurity;  Christian  opened  a  dark- 
lantern  and  its  faint  light  guided  their  steps.  They 
traversed,  in  silence,  the  picture-gallery,  the  vestibule, 
and  then  mounted  the  main  staircase.  They  reached 
the  Baron's  apartment  without  meeting  anybody  or  be- 
traying themselves  by  the  slightest  sound.  With  the 
same  outward  self-possession  which  had  characterized 
his  whole  conduct,  Christian,  after  carefully  closing 
the  doors,  lighted  a  candelabra  filled  with  candles 
which  was  upon  the  mantel,  and  then  turned  to  his 
companion,  who  was  far  less  composed  than  he. 

Gerfaut  had  suffered  tortures  since  leaving  the  little 
parlor.  A  feeling  of  regret  and  deepest  pity,  at  the 
thought  of  the  inevitable  catastrophe  which  must  fol- 
low, had  softened  his  heart.  He  saw  in  the  most 
odious  of  colors  the  selfishness  of  his  love.  Cle- 
mence's  last  glance  as  she  fell  fainting  at  his  feet — a 
forgiving  and  a  loving  glance — was  like  a  dagger  in  his 
heart.  He  had  ruined  her!  the  woman  he  loved!  the 
queen  of  his  life!  the  angel  he  adored!  This  idea  was 
like  hell  to  him.  He  was  almost  unable  to  control 
his  emotion,  dizzy  as  he  was  on  the  brink  of  the 
abyss  opened  by  his  hand,  into  which  he  had  preci 
pitated  what  he  counted  as  the  dearest  part  of  his 
own  self. 

Bergenheim  stood,  cold  and  sombre,  like  a  northern 
sky,  opposite  this  pale-faced  man,  upon  whose  counte- 
nance a  thousand  passionate  emotions  were  depicted 
like  clouds  on  a  stormy  day. 
[326] 


GERFAUT 

When  Bergenheim's  eyes  met  Octave's,  they  were  so 
full  of  vengeance  and  hatred  that  the  latter  trembled 
as  if  he  had  come  in  contact  with  a  wild  beast.  The 
lover  actually  realized  the  inferiority  of  his  attitude  in 
the  presence  of  this  enraged  husband.  A  feeling  of 
self-pride  and  indignation  came  to  his  aid.  He  put 
aside  remorse  and  regrets  until  later;  these  sad  expia- 
tions were  forbidden  him  now;  another  duty  lay  be- 
fore him.  There  is  only  one  reparation  possible  for 
certain  offences.  The  course  once  open,  one  must  go 
to  its  very  end;  pardon  is  to  be  found  only  upon  the 
tomb  of  the  offended. 

Octave  knew  he  had  to  submit  to  this  necessity.  He 
stifled  all  scruples  which  might  have  weakened  his 
firmness,  and  resumed  his  habitual  disdainful  look. 
His  eyes  returned  his  enemy's  glance  of  deadly  hatred, 
and  he  began  the  conversation  like  a  man  who  is  ac- 
customed to  master  the  events  of  his  life  and  forbids 
any  one  to  shape  them  for  him. 

"Before  any  explanations  take  place  between  us," 
he  said,  "I  have  to  declare  to  you,  upon  my  honor, 
that  there  is  only  one  guilty  person  in  this  affair,  and 
that  I  am  the  one.  The  slightest  reproach  addressed 
to  Madame  de  Bergenheim  would  be  a  most  unjust 
outrage  and  a  most  deplorable  error  on  your  part.  I 
introduced  myself  into  her  apartment  without  her 
knowledge  and  without  having  been  authorized  in  any 
way  to  do  so.  I  had  just  entered  it  when  you  arrived. 
Necessity  obliges  me  to  admit  a  love  that  is  an  outrage 
to  you ;  I  am  ready  to  repair  this  outrage  by  any  satis- 
faction you  may  demand;  but  in  putting  myself  at 
[327] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

your  discretion,  I  earnestly  insist  upon  exculpating  Ma- 
dame de  Bergenheim  from  all  that  can  in  any  way  af- 
fect her  virtue  or  her  reputation." 

"As  to  her  reputation,"  said  Christian,  "I  will 
watch  over  that;  as  to  her  virtue — 

He  did  not  finish,  but  his  face  assumed  an  expres- 
sion of  incredulous  irony. 

"I  swear  to  you,  Monsieur,"  said  Octave,  with  in- 
creasing emotion,  "that  she  is  above  all  seduction  and 
should  be  sheltered  from  all  insult;  I  swear  to  you — 
What  oath  can  I  take  that  you  will  believe  ?  I  swear 
that  Madame  de  Bergenheim  never  has  betrayed  any 
of  her  duties  toward  you;  that  I  never  have  received 
the  slightest  encouragement  from  her;  that  she  is  as 
innocent  of  my  folly  as  the  angels  in  heaven." 

Christian  shook  his  head  with  a  scornful  smile. 

"This  day  will  be  the  undying  remorse  of  my  life  if 
you  will  not  believe  me,"  said  Gerfaut,  with  almost 
uncontrolled  vehemence;  "I  tell  you,  Monsieur,  she  is 
innocent;  innocent!  do  you  understand  me?  I  was 
led  astray  by  my  passion.  I  wished  to  profit  by  your 
absence.  You  know  that  I  have  a  key  to  the  library; 
I  used  it  without  her  suspecting  it.  Would  to  God 
that  you  could  have  been  a  witness  to  our  iHe-a-tetel 
you  could  then  have  not  one  doubt  left.  Can  one  pre- 
vent a  man  from  entering  a  lady's  room,  when  he  has 
succeeded  in  finding  the  way  to  it  in  spite  of  her  wishes  ? 
I  repeat  it,  she " 

"Enough,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  Baron  coldly. 
"You  are  doing  as  I  should  do  in  your  place;  but 
this  discussion  is  out  of  place;  let  this  woman  excul- 
[328] 


GERFAUT 

pate  herself.     There  should  be  no  mention  of  her  be- 
tween us  now." 

"When  I  protest  that  upon  my  honor " 

"  Monsieur,  under  such  conditions,  a  false  oath  is 
not  dishonorable.  I  have  been  a  bachelor  myself,  and 
I  know  that  anything  is  allowable  against  a  husband. 
Let  us  drop  this,  I  beg  of  you,  and  return  to  facts.  I 
consider  that  I  have  been  insulted  by  you,  and  you 
must  give  me  satisfaction  for  this  insult." 

Octave  made  a  sign  of  acquiescence. 

"One  of  us  must  die,"  replied  Bergenheim,  leaning 
his  elbow  negligently  upon  the  mantel.  The  lover 
bowed  his  head  a  second  time. 

"I  have  offended  you,"  said  he;  "you  have  the  right 
to  choose  the  reparation  due  you." 

"There  is  only  one  possible,  Monsieur.  Blood 
alone  can  wipe  away  the  disgrace;  you  know  it  as  well 
as  I.  You  have  dishonored  my  home,  you  owe  me 
your  life  for  that.  If  Fate  favors  you,  you  will  be  rid 
of  me,  and  I  shall  be  wronged  in  every  way.  There 
are  arrangements  to  be  made,  and  we  shall  settle  them 
at  once,  if  you  are  willing." 

He  pushed  an  armchair  toward  Gerfaut,  and  took 
another  himself. 

They  seated  themselves  beside  a  desk  which  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and,  with  an  equal  appear- 
ance of  sang-froid  and  polite  haughtiness,  they  dis- 
cussed this  murderous  combat. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  say  to  you,"  said  Oc- 
tave, "that  I  accept  in  advance  whatever  you  may  de- 
cide upon;  the  weapons,  place,  and  seconds " 

[329] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Listen  to  me,  then,"  interrupted  Bergenheim; 
"you  just  now  spoke  in  favor  of  this  woman  in  a  way 
that  made  me  think  you  did  not  wish  her  ruined  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world;  so  I  trust  you  will  accept  the 
proposition  I  am  about  to  make  to  you.  An  ordinary 
duel  would  arouse  suspicion  and  inevitably  lead  to  a 
discovery  of  the  truth;  people  would  seek  for  some 
plausible  motive  for  the  encounter,  whatever  story  we 
might  tell  our  seconds.  You  know  that  there  is  but 
one  motive  which  will  be  found  acceptable  by  society 
for  a  duel  between  a  young  man  who  had  been  re- 
ceived as  a  guest  of  this  house  and  the  husband.  In 
whatever  way  this  duel  may  terminate,  this  woman's 
honor  would  remain  on  the  ground  with  the  dead,  and 
that  is  what  I  wish  to  avoid,  since  she  bears  my  name." 

"Will  you  explain  to  me  what  your  plan  is?"  asked 
Octave,  who  could  not  understand  what  his  adversary 
had  in  mind. 

"You  know,  Monsieur,"  Bergenheim  continued,  in 
his  calm  voice,  "that  I  had  a  perfect  right  to  kill  you 
a  moment  ago;  I  did  not  do  so  for  two  reasons:  first, 
a  gentleman  should  use  his  sword  and  not  a  poniard, 
and  then  your  dead  body  would  have  embarrassed 
me." 

"The  river  is  close  by!"  interrupted  Gerfaut,  with  a 
strange  smile. 

Christian  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  replied  in  a  slightly  changed  tone : 

"Instead  of  availing  myself  of  my  right,  I  intend  to 
risk  my  life  against  yours.  The  danger  is  the  same  for 
myself,  who  never  have  insulted  you,  as  for  you,  who 
[330] 


GERFAUT 

have  offered  me  the  deadliest  insult  that  one  man  can 
offer  another.  I  am  willing  to  spill  my  blood,  but  not 
to  soil  my  honor." 

"  If  it  is  a  duel  without  seconds  that  you  desire,  you 
have  my  consent;  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  your 
loyalty,  and  I  hope  you  can  say  the  same  for  mine." 

Christian  bowed  his  head  slightly  and  continued : 

"It  is  more  than  a  duel  without  seconds,  for  the 
whole  affair  must  be  so  contrived  as  to  be  looked  upon 
as  an  accident;  it  is  the  only  way  to  prevent  the  out- 
break and  scandal  I  dread  so  much.  Now  here  is  my 
proposition:  You  know  that  a  wild-boar  hunt  is  to 
take  place  to-morrow  in  the  Mares  woods.  When  we 
station  ourselves  we  shall  be  placed  together  at  a  spot 
I  know  of,  where  we  shall  be  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
other  hunters.  When  the  boar  crosses  the  enclosure 
we  will  fire  at  a  signal  agreed  upon.  In  this  way,  the 
denouement,  whatever  it  may  be,  will  be  looked  upon 
as  one  of  those  accidents  which  so  frequently  happen 
in  shooting-parties." 

"I  am  a  dead  man,"  thought  Gerfaut,  as  he  saw 
that  the  gun  would  be  the  weapon  chosen  by  his  ad- 
versary, and  recalled  his  wonderful  skill,  of  which  he 
had  had  many  and  various  proofs.  But  instead  of 
showing  the  slightest  hesitation,  his  countenance  grew 
still  more  arrogant. 

"This  kind  of  combat  seems  to  me  very  wisely 
planned,"  said  he;  "I  accept,  for  I  desire  as  much  as 
you  that  this  affair  should  remain  an  eternal  secret." 

"Since  we  are  to  have  no  seconds,"  continued  Ber- 
genheim,  "let  us  arrange  everything  so  that  nothing 
[331] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

can  betray  us;  it  is  inconceivable  how  the  most  trifling 
circumstances  often  turn  out  crushing  evidence.  I 
think  that  I  have  foreseen  everything.  If  you  find 
that  I  have  forgotten  any  detail,  please  remind  me  of 
it.  The  place  I  speak  of  is  a  narrow,  well-shaded 
path.  The  ground  is  perfectly  level ;  it  lies  from  north 
to  south,  so  that  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
sun  will  be  on  that  side;  there  will  be  no  advantage 
in  position.  There  is  an  old  elm  on  the  borders  of 
the  wood;  at  fifty  steps'  distance  in  the  pathway,  lies 
the  trunk  of  an  oak  which  has  been  felled  this  year. 
These  are  the  two  places  where  we  will  station  our- 
selves, if  you  consent  to  it.  Is  it  the  proper  distance  ?" 

"Near  or  farther,  it  matters  little.  Breast  to  breast, 
if  you  like." 

"Nearer  would  be  imprudent.  However,  fifty  steps 
with  the  gun  is  less  than  fifteen  with  a  pistol.  This 
point  is  settled.  We  will  remain  with  heads  covered, 
although  this  is  not  the  custom.  A  ball  might  strike 
the  head  where  the  cap  would  be,  and  if  this  should 
happen  it  would  arouse  suspicion,  as  people  do  not 
hunt  bareheaded.  It  only  remains  to  decide  who  shall 
fire  first,"  continued  Christian. 

"You,  of  course;  you  are  the  offended  one." 

"You  do  not  admit  the  full  offence  to  have  been 
committed,  and,  since  this  is  in  doubt,  and  I  can  not 
be  judge  and  jury  together,  we  shall  consult  chance." 

"I  declare  to  you  that  I  will  not  fire  first,"  inter- 
rupted Gerfaut. 

"Remember  that  it  is  a  mortal  duel,  and  such  scru- 
ples are  foolish.  Let  us  agree  that  whoever  has  the 
[332] 


GERFAUT 

first  shot,  shall  place  himself  upon  the  border  of  the 
woods  and  await  the  signal,  which  the  other  will  give 
when  the  boar  crosses  the  enclosure." 

He  took  a  gold  piece  from  his  purse  and  threw  it 
in  the  air. 

" Heads!"  said  the  lover,  ready  to  acquiesce  to  the 
least  of  his  adversary's  conditions. 

"Fate  is  for  you,"  said  Christian,  looking  at  the  coin 
with  marked  indifference ;  "but,  remember,  if  at  the 
signal  given  by  me  you  do  not  fire,  or  only  fire  in  the 
air,  I  shall  use  my  right  to  shoot — You  know  that  I 
rarely  miss  my  aim." 

These  preliminaries  ended,  the  Baron  took  two  guns 
from  his  closet,  loaded  them,  taking  particular  care  to 
show  that  they  were  of  equal  length  and  the  same  cali- 
bre. He  then  locked  them  up  in  the  closet  and  offered 
Gerfaut  the  key. 

"I  would  not  do  you  this  injustice,"  said  the  latter. 

"This  precaution  is  hardly  necessary,  since,  to-mor- 
row, you  will  take  your  choice  of  those  weapons. 
Now  that  everything  is  arranged,"  continued  the 
Baron,  in  a  graver  tone,  "I  have  one  request  to  make 
of  you,  and  I  think  you  are  too  loyal  to  refuse  it. 
Swear  to  me  that  whatever  may  be  the  result,  you 
will  keep  all  this  a  profound  secret.  My  honor  is  now 
in  your  hands;  speaking  as  a  gentleman  to  a  gentle- 
man, I  ask  you  to  respect  it." 

"If  I  have  the  sad  privilege  of  surviving  you,"  re- 
plied Gerfaut,  no  less  solemnly,  "I  swear  to  you  to 
keep  the  secret  inviolate.  But,  supposing  a  contrary 
event,  I  also  have  a  request  to  make  to  you.  What 
[333] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

are  your  intentions  regarding  Madame  de  Bergen- 
heim?" 

Christian  gazed  at  his  adversary  a  moment,  with  a 
searching  glance  which  seemed  to  read  his  innermost 
thoughts. 

"My  intentions?"  said  he  at  last,  in  a  displeased, 
surprised  tone;  "this  is  a  very  strange  question;  I  do 
not  recognize  your  right  to  ask  it." 

"My  right  is  certainly  strange,"  said  the  lover,  with 
a  bitter  smile;  "but  whatever  it  may  be,  I  shall  make 
use  of  it.  I  have  destroyed  this  woman's  happiness 
forever;  if  I  can  not  repair  this  fault,  at  least  I  ought 
to  mitigate  the  effect  as  much  as  lies  in  my  power. 
Will  you  reply  to  me — if  I  die  to-morrow,  what  will  be 
her  fate?" 

Bergenheim  kept  silent,  his  sombre  eyes  lowered  to 
the  floor. 

"Listen  to  me,  Monsieur,"  continued  Gerfaut,  with 
great  emotion;  "when  I  said  to  you,  'She  is  not 
guilty,'  you  did  not  believe  me,  and  I  despair  of  ever 
persuading  you,  for  I  know  well  what  your  suspicions 
must  be.  However,  these  are  the  last  words  addressed 
to  you  that  will  leave  my  mouth,  and  you  know  that 
one  has  to  believe  a  dying  man's  statement.  If  to- 
morrow you  avenge  yourself,  I  earnestly  beg  of  you, 
let  this  reparation  suffice.  All  my  pride  is  gone,  you 
see,  since  I  beg  this  of  you  upon  my  bended  knees. 
Be  humane  toward  her;  spare  her,  Monsieur.  It  is 
not  pardon  which  I  ask  you  to  grant  her — it  is  pity  for 
her  unsullied  innocence.  Treat  her  kindly — honorably. 
Do  not  make  her  too  wretched." 
[334] 


GERFAUT 

He  stopped,  for  his  voice  failed  him,  and  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"I  know  what  I  ought  to  do,"  replied  the  Baron,  in 
as  harsh  a  tone  as  Gerfaut's  had  been  tender;  "I  am 
her  husband,  and  I  do  not  recognize  anybody's  right, 
yours  least  of  all,  to  interpose  between  us." 

"I  can  foresee  the  fate  which  you  have  in  reserve 
for  her,"  replied  the  lover,  indignantly;  "you  will  not 
murder  her,  for  that  would  be  too  imprudent;  what 
would  become  of  your  vaunted  honor  then?  But  you 
will  slowly  kill  her;  you  will  make  her  die  a  new  death 
every  day,  in  order  to  satisfy  a  blind  vengeance.  You 
are  a  man  to  meditate  over  each  new  torture  as  calmly 
as  you  have  regulated  every  detail  of  our  duel." 

Bergenheim,  instead  of  replying,  lighted  a  candle  as 
if  to  put  an  end  to  this  discussion. 

"Until  to-morrow,  Monsieur,"  said  he,  with  a  cold 
air. 

"One  moment!"  exclaimed  Gerfaut,  as  he  arose; 
"you  refuse  to  give  me  one  word  which  will  assure  me 
of  the  fate  of  the  woman  whose  life  I  have  ruined?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"Very  well,  then;  I  will  protect  her,  and  I  will  do  it 
in  spite  of  you  and  against  you." 

"Not  another  word,"  interrupted  the  Baron,  sternly. 

Octave  leaned  over  the  table  between  them  and 
looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  said  in  a  terrible 
voice : 

"You  killed  Lambernier!" 

Christian  bounded  backward  as  if  he  had  been 
struck. 

[335] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"I  was  a  witness  of  that  murder,"  continued  Ger- 
faut,  slowly,  as  he  emphasized  each  word;  "I  will 
write  my  deposition  and  give  it  to  a  man  of  whom  I 
am  as  sure  as  of  myself.  If  I  die  to-morrow,  I  will 
leave  him  a  mission  which  no  effort  on  your  part  will 
prevent  him  from  fulfilling.  He  shall  watch  over  your 
slightest  actions  with  inexorable  vigilance;  he  will  be 
Madame  de  Bergenheim's  protector,  if  'you  forget  that 
your  first  duty  is  to  protect  her.  The  day  upon  which 
you  abuse  your  position  with  her,  the  day  when  she 
shall  call  out  despairingly,  'Help  me!'  that  day  shall 
my  deposition  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  public 
prosecutor  at  Nancy.  He  will  believe  its  contents;  of 
that  you  may  be  certain.  Besides,  the  river  is  an  in- 
discreet tomb;  before  long  it  will  give  up  the  body  you 
have  confided  to  it.  You  will  be  tried  and  condemned. 
You  know  the  punishment  for  murder!  It  is  hard 
labor  for  life." 

Bergenheim  darted  toward  the  mantel  at  these 
words  and  seized  a  hunting-knife  which  hung  there. 
Octave,  as  he  saw  him  ready  to  strike,  crossed  his  arms 
upon  his  breast,  and  said,  coldly: 

"Remember  that  my  body  might  embarrass  you; 
one  corpse  is  enough." 

The  Baron  threw  the  weapon  on  the  floor  with  such 
force  that  he  broke  it  in  two. 

"But  it  was  you,"  he  said,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"you  were  Lambernier's  assassin.  He  knew  this  in- 
famous secret,  and  his  death  was  involuntary  on  my 
part." 

"The  intention  is  of  little  account.  The  deed  is  the 
[336] 


GERFAUT 

question.  There  is  not  a  jury  that  would  not  con- 
demn you,  and  that  is  what  I  wish,  for  such  a  sen- 
tence would  bring  a  legal  separation  between  you  and 
your  wife  and  give  her  her  liberty." 

"You  are  not  speaking  seriously,"  said  Christian, 
turning  pale;  "you,  a  gentleman,  would  not  denounce 
me!  And,  besides,  would  not  my  being  sentenced  in- 
jure the  woman  in  whom  you  take  so  much  interest?" 

"I  know  all  that,"  Gerfaut  replied;  "I  too  cling  to 
the  honor  of  my  name,  and  yet  I  expose  it.  I  have 
plenty  of  enemies  who  will  be  glad  enough  to  outrage 
my  memory.  Public  opinion  will  condemn  me,  for 
they  will  see  only  the  action,  and  that  is  odious.  There 
is  one  thing,  however,  more  precious  and  necessary 
to  me  than  the  world's  opinion,  and  that  is  peace  for 
every  day,  the  right  to  live;  and  that  is  the  reason 
why,  happiness  having  forsaken  me,  I  am  going  to  be- 
queath it  to  the  one  whom  fate  has  put  in  your  power, 
but  whom  I  shall  not  leave  to  your  mercy." 

"I  am  her  husband,"  Bergenheim  replied,  angrily. 

"Yes,  you  are  her  husband;  so  the  law  is  on  your 
side.  You  have  only  to  call  upon  society  for  its  aid; 
it  will  come  but  too  gladly  at  your  call  and  help  you 
crush  a  defenceless  woman.  And  I,  who  love  her  as 
you  have  never  known  how  to  love  her,  I  can  do  noth- 
ing for  her!  Living,  I  must  keep  silent  and  bow  be- 
fore your  will;  but  dead,  your  absurd  laws  no  longer 
exist  for  me;  dead,  I  can  place  myself  between  you 
and  her,  and  I  will  do  it.  Since,  in  order  to  aid  her, 
I  have  no  choice  of  arms,  I  will  not  recoil  from  the 
one  weapon  which  presents  itself.  Yes,  if  in  order  to 
22  [337] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

save  her  from  your  vengeance,  I  am  obliged  to  resort 
to  the  shame  of  a  denunciation,  I  swear  to  you  here, 
I  will  turn  informer.  I  will  sully  my  name  with  this 
stain;  I  will  pick  up  this  stone  from  the  mud,  and  I 
will  crush  your  head  with  it." 

"These  are  a  coward's  words!"  exclaimed  Chris- 
tian, as  he  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

Gerfaut  looked  at  him  with  a  calm,  stony  glance, 
while  replying: 

"No  insults,  please!  One  of  us  will  not  be  living 
to-morrow.  Remember  what  I  tell  you:  if  I  fall  in 
this  duel,  it  will  be  to  your  interest  to  have  this  matter 
stop  then  and  there.  I  submit  to  death  myself;  but  I 
exact  liberty  for  her — liberty,  with  peace  and  respect. 
Think  it  over,  Monsieur;  at  the  first  outrage,  I  shall 
arise  from  my  tomb  to  prevent  a  second,  and  dig  a 
trench  between  you  and  her  which  never  can  be  crossed 
— the  penitentiary!" 


[338] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE 

"ER  she  came  out  of  her  faint, 
Madame  de  Bergenheim  remained 
for  a  long  time  in  a  dazed  condition, 
and  did  not  realize,  save  in  a  con- 
fused manner,  her  real  position.  She 
saw  vaguely,  at  her  first  glance,  the 
curtains  of  the  bed  upon  which  she 
lay,  and  thought  that  she  had  awak- 
ened from  an  ordinary  sleep.  Little  by  little,  her 
thoughts  became  clearer,  and  she  saw  that  she  was 
fully  dressed,  also  that  her  room  seemed  brighter  than 
it  usually  was  with  only  her  night-lamp  lighted.  She 
noticed  between  the  half-open  curtains  a  gigantic 
form  reflected  almost  to  the  ceiling  opposite  her  bed. 
She  sat  up  and  distinctly  saw  a  man  sitting  in  the  cor- 
ner by  the  fireplace.  Frozen  with  terror,  she  fell  back 
upon  her  pillow  as  she  recognized  her  husband.  Then 
she  remembered  everything,  even  the  slightest  details 
of  the  scene  in  the  small  parlor.  She  felt  ready  to 
faint  again  when  she  heard  Christian's  steps  upon  the 
carpet,  although  he  walked  with  great  precaution. 

The  Baron  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  then,  open- 
ing the  bed -curtains,  he  said: 
[339] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"You  can  not  pass  the  night  thus,  it  is  nearly  three 
o'clock.  You  must  go  to  bed  as  usual." 

Ctemence  shivered  at  these  words,  whose  accent, 
however,  was  not  hard.  She  obeyed  mechanically; 
but  she  had  hardly  risen  when  she  was  obliged  to  re- 
cline upon  the  bed,  for  her  trembling  limbs  would  not 
support  her. 

"Do  not  be  afraid  of  me,"  said  Bergenheim,  draw- 
ing back  a  few  steps;  "my  presence  should  not  fright- 
en you.  I  only  wish  that  people  should  know  that  I 
have  passed  the  night  in  your  chamber,  for  it  is  possi- 
ble that  my  return  may  arouse  suspicion.  You  know 
that  our  love  is  only  a  comedy  played  for  the  benefit 
of  our  servants." 

There  was  such  affected  lightness  in  these  remarks 
that  the  young  woman  was  cut  to  the  very  quick.  She 
had  expected  an  explosion  of  anger,  but  not  this  calm 
contempt.  Her  revolted  pride  gave  her  courage. 

"I  do  not  deserve  to  be  treated  thus,"  said  she;  "do 
not  condemn  me  without  a  hearing." 

"I  ask  nothing  of  you,"  replied  Christian,  who  seat- 
ed himself  again  beside  the  mantel;  "undress  yourself, 
and  go  to  sleep  if  it  is  possible  for  you  to  do  so.  It  is 
not  necessary  for  Justine  to  make  any  comments  to- 
morrow about  your  day  clothes  not  having  been  re- 
moved." 

Instead  of  obeying  him,  she  went  toward  him  and 
tried  to  remain  standing  in  order  to  speak  to  him,  but 
her  emotion  was  so  intense  that  it  took  away  her 
strength  and  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 

"You  treat  me  too  cruelly,  Christian,"  said  she, 
[34o] 


GERFAUT 

when  she  had  succeeded  to  recover  her  voice.     "I  am 
not  guilty;  at  least,  not  so  much  as  you  think  I  am — 
said  she,  drooping  her  head. 

He  looked  at  her  attentively  for  a  moment,  and  then 
replied,  in  a  voice  which  did  not  betray  the  slightest 
emotion : 

"You  must  know  that  my  greatest  desire  is  to  be 
persuaded  of  this  by  you.  I  know  that  too  often  ap- 
pearances are  deceitful;  perhaps  you  will  be  able  to 
explain  to  me  what  took  place  last  evening;  I  am  still 
inclined  to  believe  your  word.  Swear  to  me  that  you 
do  not  love  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut." 

"I  swear  it!"  said  she,  in  a  weak  voice,  and  without 
raising  her  eyes. 

He  went  to  the  bed  and  took  down  a  little  silver 
crucifix  which  was  hanging  above  it. 

"Swear  it  to  me  upon  this  crucifix,"  said  he,  pre- 
senting it  to  his  wife. 

She  tried  in  vain  to  raise  her  hand,  which  seemed 
fastened  to  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"I  swear  it!"  she  stammered  a  second  time,  while 
her  face  became  as  pale  as  death. 

A  savage  laugh  escaped  Christian's  lips.  He  put  the 
crucifix  in  its  place  again  without  saying  a  word,  then 
he  opened  the  secret  panel  and,  taking  out  the  casket, 
placed  it  upon  the  table  before  his  wife.  She  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  seize  it,  but  her  courage  failed  her. 

"You  have  perjured  yourself  to  your  husband  and  to 
God!"  said  Bergenheim  slowly.  "Do  you  know  what 
kind  of  woman  you  are  ?" 

Clemence  remained  for  some  time  powerless  to  re- 
[34i] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

ply;  her  respiration  was  so  painful  that  each  breath 
seemed  like  suffocation;  her  head,  after  rolling  about 
on  the  back  of  the  chair,  fell  upon  her  breast,  like  a 
blade  of  grass  broken  and  bruised  by  the  rain. 

"If  you  have  read  those  letters,"  she  murmured, 
when  she  had  strength  enough  to  speak,  "you  must 
know  that  I  am  not  as  unworthy  as  you  think.  I  am 
very  guilty — but  I  still  have  a  right  to  be  forgiven." 

Christian,  at  this  moment,  had  he  been  gifted  with 
the  intelligence  which  fathoms  the  mysteries  of  the 
heart,  might  have  renewed  the  bonds  which  were  so 
near  being  broken;  he  could  at  least  have  stopped 
Clemence  upon  a  dangerous  path  and  saved  her  from 
a  most  irreparable  fall.  But  his  nature  was  too  unre- 
fined for  him  to  see  the  degrees  which  separate  weak- 
ness from  vice,  and  the  intoxication  of  a  loving  heart 
from  the  depravity  of  a  corrupt  character.  With  the 
obstinacy  of  narrow-minded  people,  he  had  been  look- 
ing at  the  whole  thing  in  its  worst  light,  and  for  several 
hours  already  he  had  decided  upon  his  wife's  guilt  in 
his  own  mind;  this  served  now  as  a  foundation  for  his 
stern  conduct.  His  features  remained  perfectly  im- 
passive as  he  listened  to  Clemence's  words  of  justifica- 
tion, which  she  uttered  in  a  weak,  broken  voice. 

"I  know  that  I  merit  your  hatred — but  if  you  could 
know  how  much  I  suffer,  you  would  surely  forgive 
me — You  left  me  in  Paris  very  young,  inexperienced; 
I  ought  to  have  fought  against  this  feeling  better  than 
I  did,  but  I  used  up  in  this  struggle  all  the  strength 
that  I  had — You  can  see  how  pale  and  changed  I  have 
become  within  the  past  year.  I  have  aged  several 
134*] 


GERFAUT 

years  in  those  few  months;  I  am  not  yet  what  you 
call  a — a  lost  woman.  He  ought  to  have  told  you 
that " 

"Oh,  he  has!  of  course  he  has,"  replied  Christian 
with  bitter  irony.  "Oh,  you  have  in  him  a  loyal  cava- 
lier!" 

"You  do  not  believe  me,  then!  you  do  not  believe 
me!"  she  continued,  wringing  her  hands  in  despair; 
"but  read  these  letters,  the  last  ones.  See  whether  one 
writes  like  this  to  a  woman  who  is  entirely  lost " 

She  tried  to  take  the  package  which  her  husband 
held;  instead  of  giving  the  letters  to  her,  he  lighted 
them  at  the  candle  and  then  threw  them  into  the  fire- 
place. Clemence  uttered  a  cry  and  darted  forward  to 
save  them,  but  Christian's  iron  hand  seized  her  and 
pushed  her  back  into  her  chair. 

"I  understand  how  much  you  care  for  this  corre- 
spondence," said  he,  in  a  more  excited  tone,  "but  you 
are  more  loving  than  prudent.  Let  me  destroy  one 
witness  which  accuses  you.  Do  you  know  that  I  have 
already  killed  a  man  on  account  of  these  letters?" 

"Killed!"  exclaimed  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  whom 
this  word  drove  almost  to  madness,  for  she  could  not 
understand  its  real  meaning  and  applied  it  to  her 
lover.  "Well,  then,  kill  me  too,  for  I  lied  when  I  said 
that  I  repented.  I  do  not  repent!  I  am  guilty!  I 
deceived  you!  I  love  him  and  I  abhor  you;  I  love 
him!  kiU  me!" 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  before  him  and  dragged  her- 
self along  the  floor,  striking  her  head  upon  it  as  if  she 
wished  to  break  it.  Christian  raised  her  and  seated 
[343] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

her  in  the  chair,  in  spite  of  her  resistance.  She  strug- 
gled in  her  husband's  arms,  and  the  only  words  which 
she  uttered  were:  "I  love  him!  kill  me!  I  love  him! 
kill  me!" 

Her  grief  was  so  intense  that  Bergenheim  really 
pitied  her. 

"You  did  not  understand  me,"  he  said,  "he  is  not 
the  man  I  killed." 

She  became  motionless,  dumb.  He  left  her  then, 
from  a  feeling  of  compassion,  and  returned  to  his  seat. 
They  remained  for  some  time  seated  in  this  way,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  fireplace;  he,  with  his  head  leaning 
against  the  mantel;  she,  crouched  in  her  chair  with 
her  face  concealed  behind  her  hands;  only  the  striking 
of  the  clock  interrupted  this  silence  and  lulled  their 
gloomy  thoughts  with  its  monotonous  vibrations. 

A  sharp,  quick  sound  against  one  of  the  windows  in- 
terrupted this  sad  scene.  Clemence  arose  suddenly  as 
if  she  had  received  a  galvanic  shock;  her  frightened 
eyes  met  her  husband's.  He  made  an  imperious  ges- 
ture with  his  hand  as  if  to  order  silence,  and  both 
listened  attentively  and  anxiously. 

The  same  noise  was  heard  a  second  time.  A  rat- 
tling against  the  blinds  was  followed  by  a  dry,  metallic 
sound,  evidently  caused  by  the  contact  of  some  body 
against  the  window. 

"It  is  some  signal,"  said  Christian  in  a  low  voice,  as 
he  looked  at  his  wife.  "You  probably  know  what  it 
means." 

"I  do  not,  I  swear  to  you,"  replied  Ctemence,  her 
heart  throbbing  with  a  new  emotion. 
[344] 


GERFAUT 

"I  will  tell  you,  then;  he  is  there  and  he  has  some- 
thing to  say  to  you.  Rise  and  open  the  window." 

"Open  the  window?"  said  she,  with  a  frightened 
look. 

"Do  what  I  tell  you.  Do  you  wish  him  to  pass  the 
night  under  your  window,  so  that  the  servants  may  see 
him?" 

At  this  command,  spoken  in  a  severe  tone,  she  arose. 
Noticing  that  their  shadows  might  be  seen  from  the 
outside  when  the  curtains  were  drawn,  Bergenheim 
changed  the  candles  to  another  place.  Clemence 
walked  slowly  toward  the  window;  she  had  hardly 
opened  it,  when  a  purse  fell  upon  the  floor. 

"  Close  it  now,"  said  the  Baron.  While  his  wife  was 
quietly  obeying,  he  picked  up  the  purse,  and  opening 
it,  took  the  following  note  from  it: 

"I  have  ruined  you — you  for  whom  I  would  gladly  have  died! 
But  of  what  use  are  regrets  and  despair  now  ?  And  my  blood  will 
not  wipe  away  your  tears.  Our  position  is  so  frightful  that  I 
tremble  so  speak  of  it.  I  ought  to  tell  you  the  truth,  however, 
horrible  as  it  may  be.  Do  not  curse  me,  Clemence;  do  not  impute 
to  me  this  fatality,  which  obliges  me  thus  to  torture  you.  In  a 
few  hours  I  shall  have  expiated  the  wrongs  of  my  love,  or  you 
yourself  may  be  free.  Free!  pardon  me  for  using  this  word;  I 
know  it  is  an  odious  one  to  you,  but  I  am  too  troubled  to  find  an- 
other. Whatever  happens,  I  am  about  to  put  within  your  reach  the 
only  aid  which  it  is  possible  for  me  to  offer  you;  it  will  at  least  give 
you  a  choice  of  unhappiness.  If  you  never  see  me  again,  to  live 
with  him  will  be  a  torture  beyond  your  strength,  perhaps,  for  you 
love  me.  I  do  not  know  how  to  express  my  thoughts,  and  I  dare 
not  offer  you  advice  or  entreat  you.  All  that  I  feel  is  the  necessity 
of  telling  you  that  my  whole  life  belongs  to  you,  that  I  am  yours 

[345] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

until  death;  but  I  hardly  dare  have  the  courage  to  lay  at  your 
feet  the  offering  of  a  destiny  already  so  sad,  and  which  may  soon 
be  stained  with  blood.  A  fatal  necessity  sometimes  imposes  ac- 
tions which  public  opinion  condemns,  but  the  heart  excuses,  for 
it  alone  understands  them.  Do  not  be  angry  at  what  you  are 
about  to  read;  never  did  words  like  these  come  out  of  a  more 
desolate  heart.  During  the  whole  day  a  post-chaise  will  wait  for 
you  at  the  rear  of  the  Montigny  plateau;  a  fire  lighted  upon  the 
rock  which  you  can  see  from  your  room  will  notify  you  of  its 
presence.  In  a  short  time  it  can  reach  the  Rhine.  A  person  de- 
voted to  you  will  accompany  you  to  Munich,  to  the  house  of  one 
of  my  relatives,  whose  character  and  position  will  assure  you  suf- 
ficient protection  from  all  tyranny.  There,  at  least,  you  will  be 
permitted  to  weep.  That  is  all  that  I  can  do  for  you.  My  heart 
is  broken  when  I  think  of  the  powerlessness  of  my  love.  They  say 
that  when  one  crushes  the  scorpion  which  has  wounded  him,  he 
is  cured;  even  my  death  will  not  repair  the  wrong  that  I  have 
done  you;  it  will  only  be  one  grief  the  more.  Can  you  understand 
how  desperate  is  the  feeling  which  I  experience  now  ?  For  months 
past,  to  be  loved  by  you  has  been  the  sole  desire  of  my  heart,  and 
now  I  must  repent  ever  having  attained  it.  Out  of  pity  for  you, 
I  ought  to  wish  that  you  did  love  me  with  a  love  as  perishable  as 
my  life,  so  that  a  remembrance  of  me  would  leave  you  in  peace. 
All  this  is  so  sad  that  I  have  not  the  courage  to  continue.  Adieu, 
Cldmence!  Once  more,  one  last  time,  I  must  say:  I  love  you! 
and  yet,  I  dare  not.  I  feel  unworthy  to  speak  to  you  thus,  for  my 
love  has  become  a  disastrous  gift.  Did  I  not  ruin  you  ?  The  only 
word  that  seems  to  be  permissible  is  the  one  that  even  a  murderer 
dares  to  address  to  his  God:  pardon  me!" 

After  reading  this,  the  Baron  passed  the  letter  to 
his  wife  without  saying  a  word,  and  resumed  his  som- 
bre attitude. 

"You  see  what  he  asks  of  you?"  he  said,  after  a 
rather  long  pause,  as  he  observed  the  dazed  way  in 
[346] 


GERFAUT 

which  Madame  de  Bergenheim's  eyes  wandered  over 
this  letter. 

"My  head  is  bewildered,"  she  replied,  "I  do  not 
understand  what  he  says — Why  does  he  speak  of 
death?" 

Christian's  lips  curled  disdainfully  as  he  answered: 

"It  does  not  concern  you;  one  does  not  kill 
women." 

"They  need  it  not  to  die,"  replied  Clemence,  who 
gazed  at  her  husband  with  wild,  haggard  eyes. 

"Then  you  are  going  to  fight?"  she  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause. 

"Really,  have  you  divined  as  much?"  he  replied, 
with  an  ironical  smile;  "it  is  a  wonderful  thing  how 
quick  is  your  intelligence!  You  have  spoken  the 
truth.  You  see,  each  of  us  has  his  part  to  play.  The 
wife  deceives  her  husband;  the  husband  fights  with 
the  lover,  and  the  lover  in  order  to  close  the  comedy 
in  a  suitable  manner — proposes  to  run  away  with  the 
wife,  for  that  is  the  meaning  of  his  letter,  notwith- 
standing all  his  oratorical  precautions." 

"You  are  going  to  fight!"  she  exclaimed,  with  the 
energy  of  despair.  "You  are  going  to  fight!  And  for 
me — unworthy  and  miserable  creature  that  I  am! 
What  have  you  done?  And  is  he  not  free  to  love? 
I  alone  am  the  guilty  one,  I  alone  have  offended 
you,  and  I  alone  deserve  punishment.  Do  with  me 
what  you  will;  shut  me  up  in  a  convent  or  a  cell; 
bring  me  poison,  I  will  drink  it." 

The  Baron  burst  into  sardonic  laughter. 

"So  you  are  afraid  that  I  shall  kill  him?"  said  he, 
t347l 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

gazing  at  her  intently,  with  his  arms  crossed  upon  his 
breast. 

"I  fear  for  you,  for  us  all.  Do  you  think  that  I  can 
live  after  causing  blood  to  be  shed  ?  If  there  must  be 
a  victim,  take  me — or,  at  least,  begin  with  me.  Have 
pity!  tell  me  that  you  will  not  fight." 

"But  think — there  is  an  even  chance  that  you  may 
be  set  free!"  said  he. 

"Spare  me!"  she  murmured,  shivering  with  horror. 

"It  is  a  pity  that  blood  must  be  shed,  is  it  not?" 
said  Bergenheim,  in  a  mocking  tone;  "adultery  would 
be  pleasant  but  for  that.  I  am  sure  that  you  think 
me  coarse  and  brutal  to  look  upon  your  honor  as  a 
serious  thing,  when  you  do  not  do  so  yourself." 

"I  entreat  you!" 

"I  am  the  one  who  has  to  entreat  you.  This  aston- 
ishes you,  does  it  not? — While  I  live,  I  shall  protect 
your  reputation  in  spite  of  yourself;  but  if  I  die,  try 
to  guard  it  yours.elf .  Content  yourself  with  having  be- 
trayed me;  do  not  outrage  my  memory.  I  am  glad 
now  that  we  have  no  children,  for  I  should  fear  for 
them,  and  should  feel  obliged  to  deprive  you  of  their 
care  as  much  as  lay  in  my  power.  That  is  one  trouble 
the  less.  But  as  you  bear  my  name,  and  I  can  not  take 
it  away  from  you,  I  beg  of  you  do  not  drag  it  in  the 
mire  when  I  shall  not  be  here  to  wash  it  for  you." 

The  young  woman  fell  back  upon  her  seat  as  if 
every  fibre  in  her  body  had  been  successively  torn  to 
pieces. 

"You  crush  me  to  the  earth!"  she  said,  feebly. 

"This  revolts  you,"  continued  the  husband,  who 
[348] 


GERFAUT 

seemed  to  choose  the  most  cutting  thrust;  "you  are 
young;  this  is  your  first  error,  you  are  not  made  for 
such  adventures.  But  rest  assured,  one  becomes  ac- 
customed to  everything.  A  lover  always  knows  how 
to  find  the  most  beautiful  phrases  with  which  to  con- 
sole a  widow  and  vanquish  her  repugnances." 

"You  are  killing  me,"  she  murmured,  falling  back 
almost  unconscious  in  her  chair. 

Christian  leaned  over  her,  and,  taking  her  by  the 
arm,  said  in  a  low  tone: 

"Remember,  if  I  die  and  he  asks  you  to  follow  him, 
you  will  be  an  infamous  creature  if  you  obey  him.  He 
is  a  man  to  glory  in  you;  that  is  easy  enough  to  see. 
He  is  a  man  who  would  drag  you  after  him " 

"Oh!  have  pity— I  shall  die " 

Clemence  closed  her  eyes  and  her  lips  twitched  con- 
vulsively. 

The  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun  fell  upon  another 
scene  in  the  opposite  wing  of  the  chateau.  Marillac 
was  quietly  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just  when  he  was 
suddenly  awakened  by  a  shaking  that  nearly  threw 
him  out  of  his  bed. 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  he  said,  angrily,  when  he  suc- 
ceeded in  half  opening  his  heavy  eyes,  and  recognized 
Gerfaut  standing  beside  his  bed. 

"Get  up!"  said  the  latter,  taking  him  by  the  arm  to 
give  more  force  to  his  command. 

The  artist  covered  himself  with  the  clothes  up  to  his 
chin. 

"Are  you  walking  in  your  sleep  or  insane?"  asked 
[349] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Marillac,  "or  do  you  want  me  to  go  to  work?"  he 
added,  as  he  saw  that  his  friend  had  some  papers  in 
his  hand.  "You  know  very  well  I  never  have  any 
ideas  when  fasting,  and  that  I  am  stupid  until 
noon." 

"Get  up  at  once!"  said  Gerfaut,  "I  must  have  a 
talk  with  you." 

There  was  something  so  serious  and  urgent  in  Ger- 
faut's  accent  as  he  said  these  words,  that  the  artist  got 
up  at  once  and  hurriedly  dressed  himself. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  as  he  put  on  his 
dressing-gown,  "you  look  as  if  the  affairs  of  the  nation 
rested  upon  you." 

"Put  on  your  coat  and  boots,"  said  Octave,  "you 
must  go  to  La  Fauconnerie.  They  are  used  to  seeing 
you  go  out  early  in  the  morning  for  your  appointments 
with  Reine,  and  therefore — 

"It  is  to  this  shepherdess  you  would  send  me!"  in- 
terrupted the  artist,  as  he  began  to  undress  himself; 
"in  that  case  I  will  go  to  bed  again.  Enough  of 
that ! " 

"I  am  to  fight  with  Bergenheim  at  nine  o'clock!" 
said  Gerfaut,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Stupendous!"  exclaimed  Marillac,  as  he  jumped 
back  a  few  steps,  and  then  stood  as  motionless  as  a 
statue.  Without  wasting  any  time  in  unnecessary  ex- 
planations, his  friend  gave  him  a  brief  account  of  the 
night's  events. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I  need  you;  can  I  count  upon 
your  friendship?" 

"In  life  and  in  death!"  exclaimed  Marillac,  and  he 
[35o] 


GERFAUT 

pressed  his  hand  with  the  emotion  that  the  bravest  of 
men  feel  at  the  approach  of  a  danger  which  threatens 
one  who  is  dear  to  them. 

"Here,"  said  Gerfaut,  as  he  handed  him  the  papers 
in  his  hand,  "is  a  letter  for  you  in  which  you  will  find 
my  instructions  in  full;  they  will  serve  you  as  a  guide, 
according  to  circumstances.  This  sealed  paper  will 
be  deposited  by  you  in  the  office  of  the  public  prose- 
cutor at  Nancy,  under  certain  circumstances  which  my 
note  explains.  Finally,  this  is  my  will.  I  have  no 
very  near  relative;  I  have  made  you  my  heir. 

" Listen  to  me!  I  do  not  know  a  more  honest  man 
than  you,  that  is  the  reason  why  I  select  you.  First, 
this  legacy  is  a  trust.  I  speak  to  you  now  in  case  of 
events  which  probably  will  never  happen,  but  which  I 
ought  to  prepare  for.  I  do  not  know  what  effect  this 
may  have  upon  Clemence's  fate;  her  aunt,  who  is  very 
austere,  may  quarrel  with  her  and  deprive  her  of  her 
rights;  her  personal  fortune  is  not  very  large,  I  believe, 
and  I  know  nothing  about  her  marriage  settlement. 
She  may  thus  be  entirely  at  her  husband's  mercy,  and 
that  is  what  I  will  not  allow.  My  fortune  is  therefore 
a  trust  that  you  will  hold  to  be  placed  at  her  disposal 
at  any  time.  I  hope  that  she  loves  me  enough  not  to 
refuse  this  service  of  me." 

"Well  and  good!"  said  Marillac;  "I  will  admit  that 
the  thought  of  inheriting  from  you  choked  me  like  a 
noose  around  my  neck." 

"I  beg  of  you  to  accept  for  yourself  my  copyrights 
as  author.  You  can  not  refuse  that,"  said  Gerfaut, 
with  a  half  smile;  "this  legacy  belongs  to  the  domain 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

of  art.    To  whom  should  I  leave  it  if  not  to  you,  my 
Patroclus,  my  faithful  collaborator?" 

The  artist  took  several  agitated  turns  about  his 
room. 

"To  think,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  I  was  the  one  who 
saved  this  Bergenheim's  life!  If  he  kills  you,  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself.  And  yet,  I  told  you  this  would 
end  in  some  tragic  manner." 

" What  business  had  he  there ?  Is  it  not  so?  What 
can  I  say?  We  were  seeking  for  a  drama;  here  it  is. 
I  am  not  anxious  on  my  own  account,  but  on  hers. 
Unhappy  woman!  A  duel  is  a  stone  that  might  fall 
upon  a  man's  head  twenty  times  a  day;  it  is  sufficient 
for  a  simpleton  if  you  stare  at  him,  or  for  an  awkward 
fellow  if  you  tread  upon  his  toes;  but  on  her  account 
— poor  angel ! — I  can  not  think  of  it.  I  need  the  fullest 
command  of  my  head  and  my  heart.  But  it  is  grow- 
ing lighter;  there  is  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Go  to  the 
stable;  saddle  a  horse  yourself,  if  there  is  no  servant 
up;  go,  as  I  said,  to  La  Fauconnerie;  I  have  often 
seen  a  post-chaise  in  the  tavern  courtyard;  order  it  to 
wait  all  day  at  the  back  of  the  Montigny  plateau. 
You  will  find  everything  explained  in  detail  in  the  note 
which  I  have  given  you.  Here  is  my  purse ;  I  need  no 
money." 

Marillac  put  the  purse  in  his  pocket  and  the  papers 
in  his  memorandum-book;  he  then  buttoned  up  his 
redingote  and  put  on  his  travelling  cap.  His  counte- 
nance showed  a  state  of  exaltation  which  belied,  for 
the  time  being,  the  pacific  theories  he  had  expounded 
a  few  days  before. 

[352] 


GERFAUT 

"You  can  depend  upon  me  as  upon  yourself,"  said 
he  with  energy.  "If  this  poor  woman  calls  for  my  aid, 
I  promise  you  that  I  will  serve  her  faithfully.  I  will 
take  her  wherever  she  wishes;  to  China,  if  she  asks  it, 
and  in  spite  of  the  whole  police  force.  If  Bergenheim 
kills  you  and  then  follows  her  up,  there  will  be  another 
duel." 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  took  his  stiletto  and  a 
pair  of  pistols  from  the  mantel  and  put  them  in  his 
pocket,  after  examining  the  edge  of  the  one  and  the  caps 
of  the  others. 

"Adieu!"  said  Gerfaut. 

"Adieu!"  said  the  artist,  whose  extreme  agitation 
contrasted  strongly  with  his  friend's  calm.  "Rest 
easy!  I  will  look  after  her — and  I  will  publish  a  com- 
plete edition — But  what  an  idea — to  accept  a  duel  as 
irregular  as  this!  Have  you  ever  seen  him  use  a  gun? 
He  had  no  right  to  exact  this." 

"Hurry!  you  must  leave  before  the  servants  are 
up." 

"Kiss  me,  my  poor  fellow!"  said  Marillac,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes;  "it  is  not  very  manly  I  know,  but  I 
can  not  help  it — Oh!  these  women!  I  adore  them,  of 
course ;  but  just  now  I  am  like  Nero,  I  wish  that  they 
all  had  but  one  head.  It  is  for  these  little,  worthless 
dolls  that  we  kill  each  other!" 

"You  can  curse  them  on  your  way,"  said  Gerfaut, 
who  was  impatient  to  see  him  leave. 

"Oh,  good  gracious,  yes!  They  can  flatter  them- 
selves this  moment  that  they  all  inspire  me  with  a 
deadly  hatred." 

23  [  353  ] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"Do  not  make  any  noise,"  said  his  friend,  as  he 
carefully  opened  the  door. 

Marillac  pressed  his  hand  for  the  last  time,  and 
went  out.  When  he  reached  the  end  of  the  corridor, 
he  stopped  a  moment,  then  went  back. 

"Above  all  things,"  said  he,  as  he  passed  his  head 
through  the  half -open  door,  "no  foolish  proceedings. 
Remember  that  it  is  necessary  that  one  of  you  should 
fall,  and  that  if  you  fail,  he  will  not.  Take  your  time 
— aim — and  fire  at  him  as  you  would  at  a  rabbit." 

After  this  last  piece  of  advice,  he  went  away;  ten 
minutes  after  he  had  left,  Gerfaut  saw  him  riding  out 
of  the  courtyard  as  fast  as  Beverley's  four  legs  would 
carry  him. 


[354] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  WILD  BOAR 

E  most  radiant  sun  that  ever  gilded 
a  beautiful  September  day  had  arisen 
upon  the  castle.  The  whole  valley 
was  as  fresh  and  laughing  as  a 
young  girl  who  had  just  left  her 
bath.  The  rocks  seemed  to  have  a 
band  of  silver  surrounding  them ;  the 
woods  a  mantle  of  green  draped 
over  their  shoulders. 

There  was  an  unusual  excitement  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  chateau.  The  servants  were  coming  and  going,  the 
dogs  were  starting  a  concert  of  irregular  barks,  and  the 
horses  were  jumping  about,  sharing  their  instinctive 
presentiment  and  trying  to  break  away  from  the  bridles 
which  held  them. 

The  Baron,  seated  in  his  saddle  with  his  usual  mili- 
tary attitude,  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  went  from  one 
to  another,  speaking  in  a  joking  tone  which  prevented 
anybody  from  suspecting  his  secret  thoughts.  Ger- 
faut  had  imposed  upon  his  countenance  that  impas- 
sible serenity  which  guards  the  heart's  inner  secrets, 
but  had  not  succeeded  so  well.  His  affectation  of 
gayety  betrayed  continual  restraint;  the  smile  which 
he  forced  upon  his  lips  left  the  rest  of  his  face  cold,  and 
[3551 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

never  removed  the  wrinkle  between  his  brows.  An  in- 
cident, perhaps  sadly  longed  for,  but  unhoped  for,  in- 
creased this  gloomy,  melancholy  expression.  Just  as 
the  cavalcade  passed  before  the  English  garden,  which 
separated  the  sycamore  walk  from  the  wing  of  the 
chateau  occupied  by  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  Octave 
slackened  the  pace  of  his  horse  and  lingered  behind 
the  rest  of  his  companions;  his  eyes  closely  examined 
each  of  the  windows;  the  blinds  of  her  sleeping- room 
were  only  half  closed;  behind  the  panes  he  saw  the 
curtains  move  and  then  separate.  A  pale  face  ap- 
peared for  a  moment  between  the  blue  folds,  like  an 
angel  who  peeps  through  the  sky  to  gaze  upon  the 
earth.  Gerfaut  raised  himself  on  his  stirrups  so  as 
to  drink  in  this  apparition  as  long  as  possible,  but  he 
dared  not  make  one  gesture  of  adieu.  As  he  was  still 
endeavoring  to  obtain  one  more  glance,  he  saw  that 
the  Baron  was  at  his  side. 

"Play  your  rdle  better,"  said  he  to  him;  "we  are 
surrounded  by  spies.  De  Gamier  has  already  made  an 
observation  about  your  preoccupied  demeanor." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Octave;  "and  you  join  ex- 
ample to  advice.  I  admire  your  coolness,  but  I  despair 
of  equalling  it." 

"You  must  mingle  with  my  guests  and  talk  with 
them,"  Christian  replied. 

He  started  off  at  a  trot;  Gerfaut  followed  his  ex- 
ample, stifling  a  sigh  as  he  darted  a  last  glance  toward 
the  chateau.  They  soon  rejoined  the  cart  which  carried 
several  of  the  hunters,  and  which  Monsieur  de  Gamier 
drove  with  the  assurance  of  a  professional  coachman. 
[356] 


GERFAUT 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
trot  of  the  horses  and  the  sound  of  the  wheels  upon 
the  level  ground. 

"What  the  devil  ails  your  dogs?"  exclaimed  Mon- 
sieur de  Gamier  suddenly,  as  he  turned  to  the  Baron, 
who  was  riding  behind  him.  "There  they  are  all  mak- 
ing for  the  river." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  dogs,  who  could  be  seen  in 
the  distance,  hurried  to  the  water-side,  in  spite  of  all 
that  their  leader  could  do  to  prevent  them.  They  al- 
most disappeared 'behind  the  willows  that  bordered  the 
river,  and  one  could  hear  them  barking  furiously ;  their 
barks  sounded  like  rage  mingled  with  terror. 

"It  is  some  duck  that  they  have  scented,"  observed 
the  prosecutor. 

"They  wouldn't  bark  like  that,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Gamier,  with  the  sagacity  of  a  professional  hunter;  "if 
it  were  a  wolf,  they  could  not  make  a  greater  uproar. 
Is  it  by  chance  some  wild  boar  who  is  taking  a  bath, 
in  order  to  receive  us  more  ceremoniously?" 

He  gave  the  horses  a  vigorous  blow  from  the  whip, 
and  they  all  rapidly  approached  the  spot  where  a  scene 
was  taking  place  which  excited  to  the  highest  pitch 
everybody's  curiosity.  Before  they  reached  the  spot, 
the  keeper,  who  had  run  after  the  dogs  to  call  them 
together,  came  out  of  a  thicket,  waving  his  hat  to  stop 
the  hunters,  exclaiming: 

"A  body!  a  body!" 

"A  body!  a  drowned  man!"  he  exclaimed,  when  the 
vehicle  stopped. 

This  time  it  was  the  public  prosecutor  who  arose 
[357] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

and  jumped  from   the    cart  with    the    agility  of    a 
deer. 

"A  drowned  man!"  said  he.  "In  the  name  of  the 
law,  let  nobody  touch  the  body.  Call  back  the  dogs." 

As  he  said  these  words  he  hastened  to  the  spot  which 
the  servant  pointed  out  to  him.  Everybody  dis- 
mounted and  followed  him.  Octave  and  Bergenheim 
had  exchanged  strange  glances  when  they  heard  the 
servant's  words. 

It  was,  as  the  servant  had  announced,  the  battered 
body  of  a  man,  thrown  by  the  current  against  the  trunk 
of  the  tree,  and  there  caught  between  two  branches  of 
the  willow  as  if  in  a  vise. 

"It  is  the  carpenter!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Camier 
as  he  parted  the  foliage,  which  had  prevented  the  head 
from  being  seen  until  then,  for  he  recognized  the  work- 
man's livid,  swollen  features.  "It  is  that  poor  devil  of 
a  Lambernier,  is  it  not,  Bergenheim?" 

"It  is  true!"  stammered  Christian,  who,  in  spite  of 
his  boldness,  could  not  help  turning  away  his  eyes. 

"The  carpenter! — drowned! — this  is  frightful! — I 
never  should  have  recognized  him — how  disfigured  he 
is!"  exclaimed  the  others,  as  they  pressed  forward  to 
gaze  at  this  horrible  spectacle. 

"This  is  a  sad  way  to  escape  justice,"  observed  the 
notary,  in  a  philosophical  tone. 

The  Baron  seized  this  opening  with  avidity. 

"He  must  have  crossed  the  river  to  escape,"  said  he, 
"and  in  his  haste  he  made  a  misstep  and  fell." 

The  public  prosecutor  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of 
doubt. 

[3581 


GERFAUT 

"That  is  not  probable,"  said  he;  "I  know  the  place. 
If  he  tried  to  cross  the  river  a  little  above  or  a  little 
below  the  rock — it  doesn't  matter  which — the  current 
would  have  carried  him  into  the  little  bay  above  the 
rock  and  not  here.  It  is  evident  that  he  must  have 
drowned  himself  or  been  drowned  farther  down.  I  say, 
been  drowned,  for  you  can  see  that  he  has  a  wound 
upon  the  left  side  of  his  forehead,  as  if  he  had  received 
a  violent  blow,  or  his  head  had  hit  against  a  hard  sub- 
stance. Now,  if  he  had  been  drowned  accidentally 
while  crossing  the  river,  he  would  not  have  been 
wounded  in  this  manner." 

This  remark  silenced  the  Baron;  and  while  the  others 
exhausted  conjectures  to  explain  the  way  in  which  this 
tragic  event  had  taken  place,  he  stood  motionless,  with 
his  eyes  fastened  upon  the  river  and  avoiding  a  glance 
at  the  dead  body.  During  this  time  the  public  prose- 
cutor had  taken  from  his  pocket  some  paper  and  a  pen, 
which  he  usually  carried  with  him. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  seating  himself  upon  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  opposite  the  drowned  man,  "two  of  you 
will  do  me  the  favor  to  act  as  witnesses  while  I  draw 
up  my  official  report.  If  any  of  you  have  a  statement 
to  make  in  regard  to  this  affair,  I  beg  of  him  to  remain 
here,  so  that  I  may  receive  his  deposition." 

Nobody  stirred,  but  Gerfaut  threw  such  a  penetrat- 
ing glance  at  the  Baron  that  the  latter  turned  away  his 
eyes. 

"Gentlemen,"  continued  the  magistrate,  "I  do  not 
wish  any  of  you  to  renounce  the  sport  on  account  of 
this  untoward  incident.  There  is  nothing  attractive 
[359] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

about  this  spectacle,  and  I  assure  you  that  if  my  duty 
did  not  keep  me  here,  I  should  be  the  first  to  with- 
draw. Baron,  I  beg  of  you  to  send  me  two  men  and 
a  stretcher  in  order  to  have  the  body  carried  away; 
I  will  have  it  taken  to  one  of  your  farms,  so  as  not  to 
frighten  the  ladies." 

"The  prosecutor  is  right,"  said  Christian,  whom 
these  words  delivered  from  a  terrible  anxiety. 

After  a  deliberation,  presided  over  by  Monsieur  de 
Gamier,  the  traqueurs  and  the  dogs  left  in  silence  to 
surround  the  thickets  where  the  animal  had  been  found 
to  be  hidden.  At  the  same  time  the  hunters  turned 
their  steps  in  the  opposite  direction  in  order  to  take 
their  positions.  They  soon  reached  the  ditch  along- 
side of  which  they  were  to  place  themselves.  From 
time  to  time,  as  they  advanced,  one  of  them  left  the 
party  and  remained  mute  and  motionless  like  a  senti- 
tinel  at  his  post.  This  manoeuvre  gradually  reduced 
their  numbers,  and  at  last  there  were  only  three  re- 
maining. 

"You  remain  here,  Gamier,"  said  the  Baron,  when 
they  were  about  sixty  steps  from  the  last  position. 

That  gentleman,  who  knew  the  ground,  was  hardly 
flattered  by  this  proposition. 

"By  Jove!"  said  he,  "you  are  on  your  own  grounds; 
you  ought  at  least  to  do  the  honors  of  your  woods  and 
let  us  choose  our  own  positions.  I  think  you  wish  to 
place  yourself  upon  the  outskirts,  because  it  is  always 
about  that  region  that  the  animal  first  appears;  but 
there  will  be  two  of  us,  for  I  shall  go  also." 

This  determination  annoyed  Christian  considerably, 
[360] 


GERFAUT 

since  it  threatened  to  ruin  the  plan  so  prudently  laid 
out. 

"I  am  going  to  put  our  friend  Gerfaut  at  this  post," 
said  he,  whispering  to  the  refractory  hunter;  "I  shall 
be  very  much  pleased  if  he  has  an  opportunity  to  fire. 
What  difference  does  one  boar  more  or  less  make  to 
an  old  hunter  like  you?" 

"Well  and  good;  just  as  you  like,"  retorted  Mon- 
sieur de  Gamier,  striking  the  ground  with  the  butt-end 
of  his  gun,  and  beginning  to  whistle  in  order  to  cool 
off  his  anger. 

When  the  adversaries  found  themselves  side  by  side 
and  alone,  Bergenheim's  countenance  changed  sud- 
denly; the  smiling  look  he  had  assumed,  in  order  to 
convince  the  old  hunter  of  his  cheerful  disposition, 
gave  place  to  deep  gravity. 

"You  remember  our  agreement,"  he  said,  as  they 
walked  along;  "I  feel  sure  that  the  boar  will  come' in 
our  direction.  At  the  moment  when  I  call  out,  'Take 
care ! '  I  shall  expect  you  to  fire ;  if,  at  the  end  of  twenty 
seconds,  you  have  not  done  so,  I  warn  you  that  I  shall 
fire  myself." 

"Very  well,  Monsieur,"  said  Gerfaut,  looking  at  him 
fixedly;  "you  also  doubtless  remember  my  words;  the 
discovery  of  this  body  will  give  them  still  more  weight. 
The  pubKc  prosecutor  has  already  begun  his  prelim- 
inary proceedings;  remember  that  it  depends  on  me 
how  they  shall  be  completed.  The  deposition  which  I 
spoke  to  you  about  is  in  the  hands  of  a  safe  person,  who 
is  fully  instructed  to  make  use  of  it  if  necessary." 

"Marillac,  I  suppose,"  said  Christian,  in  an  evil 
[361] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

tone;  "he  is  your  confidant.  It  is  a  fatal  secret  that 
you  have  confided  to  him,  Monsieur.  If  I  survive  to- 
day, I  shall  have  to  secure  his  silence.  May  all  this 
blood,  past,  present,  and  future,  be  on  your  head ! " 

Deeply  affected  by  this  reproach,  the  Vicomte  bowen 
his  head  in  silence. 

"Here  is  my  place,"  said  the  Baron,  stopping  before 
the  trunk  of  an  old  oak,  "and  there  is  the  elm  where 
you  are  to  station  yourself." 

Gerfaut  stopped,  and  said,  in  a  trembling  voice: 

"Monsieur,  one  of  us  will  not  leave  these  woods 
alive.  In  the  presence  of  death,  one  tells  the  truth. 
I  hope  for  your  peace  of  mind,  and  my  own,  that  you 
will  believe  my  last  words.  I  swear  to  you,  upon  my 
honor  and  by  all  that  is  sacred,  that  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim  is  innocent." 

He  bowed,  and  withdrew  from  Christian  without 
waiting  for  a  response. 

Bergenheim  and  Gerfaut  were  out  of  sight  of  the 
others,  and  stood  at  their  posts  with  eyes  fastened 
upon  each  other.  The  ditch  was  wide  enough  to  pre- 
vent the  branches  of  the  trees  from  troubling  them;  at 
the  distance  of  sixty  feet,  which  separated  them,  each 
could  see  his  adversary  standing  motionless,  framed  by 
the  green  foliage.  Suddenly,  barking  was  heard  in  the 
distance,  partially  drowned  by  the  firing  of  a  gun.  A 
few  seconds  later,  two  feeble  reports  were  heard,  fol- 
lowed by  an  imprecation  from  Monsieur  de  Gamier, 
whose  caps  flashed  in  the  pan.  The  Baron,  who  had 
just  leaned  forward  that  he  might  see  better  through 
the  thicket,  raised  his  hand  to  warn  Octave  to  hold 
[362] 


GERFAUT 

himself  in  readiness.  He  then  placed  himself  in  posi- 
tion. An  extreme  indecision  marked  Gerfaut's  atti- 
tude. After  raising  his  gun,  he  dropped  it  to  the 
ground  with  a  despondent  gesture,  as  if  his  resolution 
to  fire  had  suddenly  abandoned  him;  the  pallor  of 
death  could  not  be  more  terrible  than  that  which  over- 
spread his  features.  The  howling  of  the  dogs  and 
shouts  of  the  hunters  increased.  Suddenly  another 
sound  was  heard.  Low,  deep  growls,  followed  by  the 
crackling  of  branches,  came  from  the  woods  opposite 
our  adversaries.  The  whole  thicket  seemed  to  trem- 
ble as  if  agitated  by  a  storm. 

"Take  care!"  exclaimed  Bergenheim,  in  a  firm 
voice. 

At  the  same  moment  an  enormous  head  appeared, 
and  the  report  of  a  gun  was  heard.  When  Gerfaut 
looked  through  the  smoke  caused  by  his  gun,  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  ditch,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
the  foliage. 

The  boar,  after  crossing  the  clearing,  vanished  like 
a  flash,  leaving  behind  him  a  trail  of  broken  branches 
— and  Bergenheim  lay  behind  the  trunk  of  the  old  oak, 
upon  which  large  drops  of  blood  had  already  fallen. 


[363] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BERGENHEIM'S  REVENGE 

the  same  morning  the  drawing- 
room  of  the  Bergenheim  castle  was 
the  theatre  of  a  quiet  home  scene 
very  much  like  the  one  we  described 
at  the  beginning  of  this  story.  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil  was  seated  in 
her  armchair  reading  the  periodicals 
which  had  just  arrived;  Aline  was 
practising  upon  the  piano,  and  her  sister-in-law  was 
seated  before  one  of  the  windows  embroidering.  By  the 
calm  attitude  of  these  three  ladies,  and  the  interest  they 
seemed  to  show  in  their  several  occupations,  one  would 
have  supposed  that  they  were  all  equally  peaceful  at 
heart.  Madame  de  Bergenheim,  upon  rising,  had  re- 
sumed her  usual  habits;  she  managed  to  find  the  proper 
words  to  reply  when  spoken  to,  her  dejection  did  not 
differ  from  her  usual  melancholy  enough  for  it  to  be- 
come the  subject  of  remark.  A  rather  bright  color  in 
her  cheeks  heightened  her  beaujy;  her  eyes  never  had 
sparkled  with  more  brilliancy;  but  if  a  hand  had  been 
placed  upon  her  forehead,  one  would  have  soon  dis- 
covered by  its  burning  the  secret  of  all  this  unwonted 
color.  In  fact,  in  the  midst  of  this  sumptuous  room, 
surrounded  by  her  friends,  and  bending  over  her  em- 
.[364] 


GERFAUT 

broidery  with  most  exquisite  grace,  Madame  de  Ber- 
genheim  was  slowly  dying.  A  wasting  fever  was  cir- 
culating like  poison  through  her  veins.  She  felt  that 
an  unheard-of  sorrow  was  hanging  over  her  head,  and 
that  no  effort  of  hers  could  prevent  it. 

At  this  very  moment,  either  the  man  she  belonged 
to  or  the  one  she  loved  was  about  to  die;  whatever 
her  widowhood  might  be,  she  felt  that  her  mourning 
would  be  brief;  young,  beautiful,  surrounded  by  all 
the  privileges  of  rank  and  fortune,  life  was  closing 
around  her,  and  left  but  one  pathway  open,  which  was 
full  of  blood ;  she  would  have  to  bathe  her  feet  in  it  in 
order  to  pass  through. 

"What  is  that  smoke  above  the  Montigny  rock?" 
Aline  exclaimed  with  surprise;  "it  looks  as  if  there 
were  a  fire  in  the  woods." 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  raised  her  eyes,  shivered 
from  head  to  foot  as  she  saw  the  stream  of  smoke  which 
stood  out  against  the  horizon,  and  then  let  her  head 
droop  upon  her  breast.  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil 
stopped  her  reading  as  she  heard  Aline's  remark,  and 
turned  slowly  to  look  out  of  the  window. 

"That's  some  of  the  shepherds'  work,"  said  she; 
"they  have  built  a  fire  in  the  bushes  at  the  risk  of 
setting  fire  to  the  whole  woods.  Really,  I  do  not 
know  what  to  think  of  your  husband,  Cle'mence;  he 
takes  everybody  away  to  the  hunt  with  him,  and  does 
not  leave  a  soul  here  to  prevent  his  dwelling  from 
being  devastated." 

Clemence  made  no  reply,  and  her  sister-in-law,  who 
expected  she  would  say  something  to  keep  the  conversa- 
[365] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

tion  alive,  returned  and  seated  herself  at  the  piano  with 
a  pouting  air. 

"Thanks,  that  will  do  for  to-day!"  exclaimed  the 
old  lady  at  the  first  notes;  "you  have  split  our  heads 
long  enough.  You  would  do  better  to  study  your  his- 
tory of  France." 

Aline  closed  the  piano  angrily;  but  instead  of  obey- 
ing this  last  piece  of  advice,  she  remained  seated  upon 
the  stool  with  the  sulky  air  of  a  pupil  in  disgrace.  A 
deep  silence  reigned.  Madame  de  Bergenheim  had 
dropped  her  embroidery  without  noticing  it.  From 
time  to  time  she  trembled  as  if  a  chill  passed  over  her, 
her  eyes  were  raised  to  watch  the  smoke  ascending 
above  the  rock,  or  else  she  seemed  to  listen  to  some 
imaginary  sound. 

"Truly,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil,  as  she 
laid  her  journal  down  in  her  lap,  "good  morals  have 
made  great  progress  since  the  July  revolution.  Yes- 
terday a  woman  twenty  years  of  age  ran  away  to  Mont- 
pelier  with  her  lover;  to-day,  here  is  another,  in  Lyons, 
who  poisons  her  husband  and  kills  herself  afterward. 
If  I  were  superstitious,  I  should  say  that  the  world  was 
coming  to  an  end.  What  do  you  think  of  such  atro- 
cious doings,  my  dear?" 

Clemence  raised  her  head  with  an  effort,  and  an- 
swered, in  a  gloomy  voice: 

"You  must  pardon  her,  since  she  is  dead." 

"You  are  very  indulgent,"  replied  the  old  aunt; 
"such  creatures  ought  to  be  burned  alive,  like  the 
Brinvilliers." 

"They  often  speak  in  the  papers  of  husbands  who 
[366] 


GERFAUT 

kill  their  wives,  but  not  so  often  of  wives  killing  their 
husbands,"  said  Aline,  with  the  partisan  feeling  natural 
to  the  fair  sex. 

"It  is  not  proper  that  you  should  talk  of  such  horrid 
things,"  said  the  old  lady,  in  a  severe  tone;  "behold 
the  fruits  of  all  the  morals  of  the  age !  It  is  the  effect 
of  all  the  disgusting  stuff  that  is  acted  nowadays  upon 
the  stage  and  written  in  novels.  When  one  thinks  of 
the  fine  education  that  is  given  youth  at  the  present 
time,  it  is  enough  to  make  one  tremble  for  the  future!" 

"Mon  Dieul  Mademoiselle,  you  may  be  sure  that  I 
shall  never  kill  my  husband,"  replied  the  young  girl, 
to  whom  this  remark  seemed  particularly  addressed. 

A  stifled  groan,  which  Madame  de  Bergenheim  could 
not  suppress,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  two  ladies. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  asked  Mademoiselle 
de  Corandeuil,  noticing  for  the  first  time  her  niece's 
dejected  air  and  the  frightened  expression  in  her  eyes. 

"Nothing,"  murmured  the  latter;  "I  think  it  is  the 
heat  of  the  room." 

Aline  hastily  opened  a  window,  then  went  and  took 
her  sister-in-law's  hands  in  her  own. 

"You  have  a  fever,"  said  she;  "your  hands  burn  and 
your  forehead  also;  I  did  not  dare  tell  you,  but  your 
beautiful  color — 

A  frightful  cry  which  Madame  de  Bergenheim  ut- 
tered made  the  young  girl  draw  back  in  fright. 

' '  Clemence !  Clemence ! ' '  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de 
Corandeuil,  who  thought  that  her  niece  had  gone  in- 
sane. 

"Did  you  not  hear?"  she  cried,  with  an  accent  of 
[367] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

terror  impossible  to  describe.  She  darted  suddenly 
toward  the  drawing-room  door;  but,  instead  of  opening 
it,  she  leaned  against  it  with  arms  crossed.  Then  she 
ran  two  or  three  times  around  the  room  in  a  sort  of 
frenzy,  and  ended  by  falling  upon  her  knees  before  the 
sofa  and  burying  her  head  in  its  cushions. 

This  scene  bewildered  the  two  women.  While  Made- 
moiselle de  Corandeuil  tried  to  raise  Clemence,  Aline, 
still  more  frightened,  ran  out  of  the  room  to  call  for 
aid.  A  rumor  which  had  just  begun  to  arise  in  the 
courtyard  was  distinctly  heard  when  the  door  was 
thrown  open.  A  moment  more,  and  a  piercing  shriek 
was  heard,  and  the  young  girl  rushed  into  the  parlor; 
throwing  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her  sister-in-law 
she  pressed  her  to  her  breast  with  convulsive  energy. 

As  she  felt  herself  seized  in  this  fashion,  Clemence 
raised  her  head  and,  placing  her  hands  upon  Aline's 
shoulders,  she  pushed  her  backward  and  gazed  at  her 
with  eyes  that  seemed  to  devour  her. 

"Which?  which?"  she  asked,  in  a  harsh  voice. 

"My  brother — covered  with  blood!"  stammered 
Aline. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  pushed  her  aside  and  threw 
herself  upon  the  sofa.  Her  first  feeling  was  a  horrible 
joy  at  not  hearing  the  name  of  Octave;  but  she  tried 
to  smother  her  hysterical  utterances  by  pressing  her 
mouth  against  the  cushion  upon  which  her  face  was 
leaning. 

A  noise  of  voices  was  heard  in  the  vestibule;  the 
greatest  confusion  seemed  to  reign  among  the  people 
outside.  At  last,  several  men  entered  the  drawing- 
[368] 


GERFAUT 

room;  at  their  head  was  Monsieur  de  Gamier,  whose 
ruddy  face  had  lost  all  its  color. 

"Do  not  be  frightened,  ladies/'  said  he,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice;  "do  not  be  frightened.  It  is  only  a  slight 
accident,  without  any  danger.  Monsieur  de  Bergen- 
heim  was  wounded  in  the  hunt,"  he  continued,  address- 
ing Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil. 

At  last,  the  folding-doors  were  thrown  open,  and  two 
servants  appeared,  bearing  the  Baron  upon  a  mattress. 

When  the  servants  had  deposited  their  burden  in 
front  of  one  of  the  windows,  Aline  threw  herself  upon 
her  brother's  body,  uttering  heartrending  cries.  Made- 
dame  de  Bergenheim  did  not  stir;  she  lay  upon  the 
sofa  with  eyes  and  ears  buried  in  the  cushions,  and 
seemed  deaf  and  blind  to  all  that  surrounded  her. 
Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  was  the  only  one  who 
preserved  her  presence  of  mind.  Controlling  her  emo- 
tion, she  leaned  over  the  Baron  and  sought  for  some 
sign  of  life. 

"Is  he  dead  ?"  she  asked, in  a  low  voice,  of  Monsieur 
de  Gamier. 

"No,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  latter,  in  a  tone 
which  announced  that  he  had  little  hope. 

"Has  a  physician  been  sent  for?" 

"To  Remiremont,  Epinal>  everywhere." 

At  this  moment  Aline  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  Bergen- 
heim had  just  stirred,  brought  to  life,  perhaps,  by  the 
pressure  of  his  sister's  arms.  He  opened  his  eyes  and 
closed  them  several  times;  at  last  his  energy  triumphed 
over  his  sufferings;  he  sat  up  on  his  improvised  cot  and, 
leaning  upon  his  left  elbow,  he  glanced  around  the  room. 
24  [  369  ] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"My  wife!"  said  he,  in  a  weak  voice. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  arose  and  forced  her  way 
through  the  group  that  surrounded  the  mattress,  and 
silently  took  her  place  beside  her  husband.  Her  feat- 
ures had  changed  so  terribly  within  a  few  moments 
that  a  murmur  of  pity  ran  through  the  group  of  men 
that  filled  the  room. 

"Take  my  sister  away,"  said  Christian,  disengaging 
his  hand  from  the  young  girl,  who  was  covering  it  with 
kisses  and  tears. 

"My  brother!  I  can  not  leave  my  brother!"  ex- 
claimed Aline,  as  she  was  dragged  away  rather  than 
led  to  her  room. 

"Leave  me  for  a  moment,"  continued  the  Baron; 
"I  wish  to  speak  to  my  wife." 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  gave  Monsieur  de  Ca- 
mier  a  questioning  glance,  as  if  to  ask  if  it  were  best  to 
grant  this  request. 

"We  can  do  nothing  before  the  doctors  arrive,"  said 
the  latter,  in  a  low  voice,  "and  perhaps  it  would  be  im- 
prudent to  oppose  him." 

Mademoiselle  de  Corandeuil  recognized  the  correct- 
ness of  this  observation,  and  left  the  room,  asking  the 
others  to  follow  her.  During  this  time,  Madame  de 
Bergenheim  remained  motionless  in  her  place,  appar- 
ently insensible  to  all  that  surrounded  her.  The  noise 
of  the  closing  door  aroused  her  from  her  stupor.  She 
looked  around  the  room  as  if  she  were  seeking  the 
others;  her  eyes,  which  were  opened  with  the  fixed 
look  of  a  somnambulist,  did  not  change  their  expression 
when  they  fell  upon  her  husband. 
[37o] 


GERFAUT 

"Come  nearer,"  said  he,  "I  have  not  strength  enough 
to  speak  loud." 

She  obeyed  mechanically.  When  she  saw  the  large 
red  stain  which  had  soaked  Christian's  right  sleeve,  she 
closed  her  eyes,  threw  back  her  head,  and  her  features 
contracted  with  a  horrified  expression. 

"You  women  are  wonderfully  fastidious,"  said  the 
Baron,  as  he  noticed  this  movement;  "you  delight  in 
causing  a  mijrder,  but  the  slightest  scratch  frightens 
you.  Pass  over  to  the  left  side;  you  will  not  see  so 
much  blood — besides,  it  is  the  side  where  the  heart 
is." 

There  was  something  terrible  in  the  irony  of  the 
voice  in  which  he  spoke  at  this  moment.  Clemence 
fell  upon  her  knees  beside  him  and  took  his  hand, 
crying: 

"Pardon!  pardon!" 

The  dying  man  took  away  his  hand,  raised  his  wife's 
head,  and,  looking  at  her  a  few  moments  attentively, 
he  said  at  last: 

"Your  eyes  are  very  dry.  No  tears!  What!  not 
one  tear  when  you  see  me  thus!" 

"I  can  not  weep,"  replied  she;  "I  shall  die!" 

"It  is  very  humiliating  for  me  to  be  so  poorly  re- 
gretted, and  it  does  you  little  honor — try  to  shed  a 
few  tears,  Madame — it  will  be  remarked — a  widow 
who  does  not  weep!" 

"A  widow — never!"  she  said,  with  energy'. 

"It  would  be  convenient  if  they  sold  tears  as  they 
sell  crape,  would  it  not?  Ah!  only  you  women  have 
a  real  talent  for  that — all  women  know  how  to  weep." 
[37i] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"You  will  not  die,  Christian — oh!  tell  me  that  you 
will  not  die — and  that  you  will  forgive  me." 

"Your  lover  has  killed  me,"  said  Bergenheim,  slowly; 
"I  have  a  bullet  in  my  chest — I  feel  it — I  am  the  one 
who  is  to  die — in  less  than  an  hour  I  shall  be  a  corpse 
— don't  you  see  how  hard  it  is  already  for  me  to 
talk?" 

In  reality  his  voice  was  becoming  weaker  and  weak- 
er. His  breath  grew  shorter  with  each  word ;  a  wheez- 
ing sound  within  his  chest  indicated  the  extent  of  the 
lesion  and  the  continued  extravasation  of  blood. 

"Mercy!  pardon!"  exclaimed  the  unhappy  woman, 
prostrating  herself  upon  the  floor. 

"More  air — open  the  windows "  said  the  Baron, 

as  he  fell  back  upon  the  mattress,  exhausted  by  the 
efforts  he  had  just  made  to  talk. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim  obeyed  his  order  with  the 
precision  of  an  automaton.  A  fresh,  pure  breeze  en- 
tered the  room;  when  the  curtains  were  raised,  floods 
of  light  illuminated  the  floor,  and  the  old  portraits, 
suddenly  lighted  up,  looked  like  ghosts  who  had  left 
their  graves  to  witness  the  death  agonies  of  the  last 
of  their  descendants.  Christian,  refreshed  by  the  air 
which  swept  over  his  face,  sat  up  again.  He  gazed 
with  a  melancholy  eye  at  the  radiant  sun  and  the 
green  woods  which  lay  stretched  out  in  front  of  the 
chateau. 

"I  lost  my  father  on  such  a  day  as  this,"  said  he, 
as  if  talking  to  himself — "all  our  family  die  during 
the  beautiful   weather — ah!    do  you  see  that  smoke 
over  the  Montigny  rock?"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly. 
[372] 


GERFAUT 

After  opening  the  windows,  Clemence  stepped  out 
upon  the  balcony.  Leaning  upon  the  balustrade,  she 
gazed  at  the  deep,  rapid  river  which  flowed  at  her  feet. 
Her  husband's  voice  calling  her  aroused  her  from  this 
gloomy  contemplation.  When  she  returned  to  Chris- 
tian, his  eyes  were  flaming,  a  flush  like  that  of  fever 
had  overspread  his  cheeks,  and  a  writhing,  furious 
indignation  was  depicted  upon  his  face.  "Were  you 
looking  at  that  smoke?"  said  he,  angrily;  "it  is  your 
lover's  signal;  he  is  there — he  is  waiting  to  take  you 
away — and  I,  your  husband,  forbid  you  to  go — you 
must  not  leave  me — your  place  is  here — close  by  me." 

"Close  by  you,"  she  repeated,  not  understanding 
what  he  said. 

"Wait  at  least  until  I  am  dead,"  he  continued, 
while  his  eyes  flashed  more  and  more — "let  my  body 
get  cold — when  you  are  a  widow  you  can  do  as  you 
like — you  will  be  free — and  even  then — I  forbid  it — I 
order  you  to  wear  mourning  for  me — above  all,  try  to 
weep " 

"Strike  me  with  a  knife!  At  least  I  should  bleed," 
said  she,  bending  toward  him  and  tearing  open  her 
dress  to  lay  bare  her  bosom. 

He  seized  her  by  the  arm,  and,  exerting  all  his  wast- 
ing strength  to  reach  her,  he  said,  in  a  voice  whose 
harshness  was  changed  almost  into  supplication: 

"Clemence,  do  not  dishonor  me  by  giving  yourself 
to  him  when  I  am  dead — I  would  curse  you  if  I  thought 
that  you  would  do  that " 

"  Oh !  do  not  curse  me ! "  she  exclaimed ;  "  do  not  drive 
me  mad.     Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  about  to  die?" 
[373] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

"There  are  women  who  do  not  see  their  husband's 
blood  upon  their  lover's  hands — but  I  would  curse 
you- " 

He  dropped  Cle'mence's  arm  and  fell  back  upon  the 
mattress  with  a  sob.  His  eyes  closed,  and  some  un- 
intelligible words  died  on  his  lips,  which  were  covered 
with  a  bloody  froth.  He  was  dying. 

Madame  de  Bergenheim,  crouched  down  upon  the 
floor,  heard  him  repeating  in  his  expiring  voice: 

"I  would  curse  you — I  would  curse  you!" 

She  remained  motionless  for  some  time,  her  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  dying  man  before  her  with  a  look 
of  stupefied  curiosity.  Then  she  arose  and  went  to 
the  mirror;  she  gazed  at  herself  for  a  moment  as  if 
obeying  the  whim  of  an  insane  woman,  pushing  aside, 
in  order  to  see  herself  better,  the  hair  which  covered 
her  forehead.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  reason  came  to  her; 
she  uttered  a  horrible  cry  as  she  saw  some  blood  upon 
her  face;  she  looked  at  herself  from  head  to  foot;  her 
dress  was  stained  with  it;  she  wrung  her  hands  in 
horror,  and  felt  that  they  were  wet.  Her  husband's 
blood  was  everywhere.  Then,  her  brain  filled  with 
the  fire  of  raving  madness,  she  rushed  out  upon  the 
balcony,  and  Bergenheim,  before  his  last  breath  es- 
caped him,  heard  the  noise  of  her  body  as  it  fell  into 
the  river. 

Several  days  later,  the  Sentinelle  des  Vosges  con- 
tained the  following  paragraph,  written  with  the  offi- 
cial sorrow  found  in  all  death-notices  at  thirty  sous 
per  line: 

[374] 


GERFAUT 

"A  frightful  event,  which  has  just  thrown  two  of  our  best  fam- 
ilies into  mourning,  has  caused  the  greatest  consternation  through- 
out the  Remiremont  district.  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Bergenheim, 
one  of  the  richest  land-owners  in  our  province,  was  killed  by  acci- 
dent at  a  wild-boar  hunt  on  his  own  domains.  It  was  by  the  hand 
of  one  of  his  best  friends,  Monsieur  de  Gerfaut,  well  known  by 
his  important  literary  work,  which  has  given  its  author  a  world- 
wide reputation,  that  he  received  his  death-blow.  Nothing  could 
equal  the  grief  of  the  involuntary  cause  of  this  catastrophe.  Ma- 
dame de  Bergenheim,  upon  learning  of  this  tragic  accident,  was 
unable  to  survive  the  death  of  her  adored  husband,  and  drowned 
herself  in  her  despair.  Thus  the  same  grave  received  this  couple, 
still  in  the  bloom  of  life,  to  whom  their  great  mutual  affection 
seemed  to  promise  a  most  happy  future." 

Twenty-eight  months  later  the  Parisian  journals,  in 
their  turn,  inserted,  with  but  slight  variations,  the  fol- 
lowing article: 

"Nothing  could  give  any  idea  of  the  enthusiasm  manifested  at 
the  Theatre-Francais  last  evening,  at  the  first  representation  of 
Monsieur  de  Gerfaut's  new  drama.  Never  has  this  writer,  whose 
silence  literature  has  deplored  for  too  long  a  time,  distinguished 
himself  so  highly.  His  early  departure  for  the  East  is  announced. 
Let  us  hope  that  this  voyage  will  turn  to  the  advantage  of  art,  and 
that  the  beautiful  and  sunny  countries  of  Asia  will  be  a  mine  for 
new  inspirations  for  this  celebrated  poet,  who  has  taken,  in  such 
a  glorious  manner,  his  place  at  the  head  of  our  literature." 

Bergenheim's  last  wish  had  been  realized;  his  honor 
was  secure;  nobody  outraged  by  even  an  incredulous 
smile  the  purity  of  Clemence's  winding-sheet;  and  the 
world  did  not  refuse  to  their  double  grave  the  common- 
place consideration  that  had  surrounded  their  lives. 
[375] 


CHARLES  DE  BERNARD 

Clemence's  death  did  not  destroy  the  future  of  the 
man  who  loved  her  so  passionately,  but  the  mourning 
he  wears  for  her,  to  this  day,  is  of  the  kind  that  is 
never  put  aside.  And,  as  the  poet's  heart  was  always 
reflected  in  his  works,  the  world  took  part  in  this 
mourning  without  being  initiated  into  its  mystery. 
When  the  bitter  cup  of  memory  overflowed  in  them, 
they  believed  it  to  be  a  new  vein  which  had  opened  in 
the  writer's  brain.  Octave  received,  every  day,  con- 
gratulations upon  this  sadly  exquisite  tone  of  his  lyre, 
whose  vibrations  surpassed  in  supreme  intensity  the 
sighs  of  Rene  or  Obermann's  Reveries.  Nobody  knew 
that  those  sad  pages  were  written  under  the  inspiration 
of  the  most  mournful  of  visions,  and  that  this  dark  and 
melancholy  tinge,  which  was  taken  for  a  caprice  of  the 
imagination,  had  its  source  in  blood  and  in  the  spasms 
of  a  broken  heart. 


[376] 


